


The Spaces Between

by iron_parkr



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Father-Daughter Relationship, Flashbacks, Gen, Major Original Character(s), Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Original Female Character, Parent Pepper Potts, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Has a Twin, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Spider-Man: Homecoming Compliant, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark has a daughter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:22:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21929662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iron_parkr/pseuds/iron_parkr
Summary: For the record, Maggie Stark didn’t run away. Running away means having something to run from, and in the wake of the Sokovia Accords, all Maggie’s got are scars. With her friends imprisoned and her family shattered beyond repair, it’s off to New York City, to Peter and Daisy Parker, their aunt May, and Maggie’s first taste of life outside her father’s legacy. There’s something strange going on in Queens, though, and it’s not just Daisy’s attitude or Peter’s random disappearances. But before Maggie can solve that mystery, she has to make it through the most thrilling and terrifying venture she can imagine after a life of superheroes, alien invasions, and near-death experiences—high school.
Relationships: Avengers Team & Original Female Character(s), May Parker & Peter Parker, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker & Original Character(s), Pepper Potts & Original Female Character(s), Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Original Female Character(s), Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers & Original Female Character(s), Tony Stark & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 29





	1. Act I: Rusted from the Rain - Chapter 1: Happy Birthday to You

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, y'all! Welcome to my first non-Irondad Marvel fic! This fic is the culmination of almost two years of planning and writing and rewriting, so I'm very excited to share it! I hope you love the story and Maggie and Daisy as much as I do! Don't forget to leave kudos and comment to tell me what you think! Enjoy!

* * *

She woke up screaming. Heart pounding, she shot up on the bed, her legs tangling in something soft and warm. Her eyes danced wildly around the room. A small television set playing a news broadcast hung in the corner. To her left stood a wooden bedside table that was home to a vase full of daffodils bathed in the silvery moonlight shining through the curtains of the window. There was an empty IV stand to her right and a heart monitor next to it, eerily silent and blank.

A hospital. She was in a hospital.

As her panic subsided and the tension in her limbs eased, she leaned back against the mountain of pillows at the top of the bed, pulled the blanket up from around her legs, and let out a shaky breath. It was a dream. All a dream. A nightmare, if she was being truthful. She’d had it every night since they’d arrived in Moscow—the one where she got a front-row seat to a rerun of the worst day of her life.

She pressed her thumb into the gauze over her right palm, wincing at the pain. It was a good pain, though. It reminded her that she wasn’t back there still, that no matter how real it seemed, it was only a nightmare.

Still, she shivered in the warmth of the room, though that might have been the last remnants of the hypothermia. A mild case, they’d told her. Nothing some blankets and heating pads couldn’t fix. Any longer and she would have been much worse off. As if that made her feel so much better.

Sighing, she let her hands rest on top of her face. The gauze itched against the sensitive skin of her cheek, but she welcomed the feeling. It was a rather dull existence being cooped up in that room for so long. Hospitals didn’t tend to have grand pianos lying around and she was in no condition for sparring, which left her with two choices for entertainment—listen to the news reporters drone on in Russian or stare out the window at the bare landscape just past the fence around the perimeter.

“Up already, _malyshka_?” said a voice with a slight accent.

She lifted her hands, squinting against the bright lights above her, and looked over to find Dr. Morozov carefully shutting the door behind him. When he met her gaze, he smiled.

Dr. Morozov was an older man with greying hair and a permanent shadow on his jaw. He was tall and lean, built like a basketball player, and his white lab coat hung loosely off his frame. Above all, even knowing who she was, he never treated her differently than any other patient.

Dr. Morozov pulled one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs closer to her bedside and sat next to her, his hands folded in his lap. “Those time differences, they are tricky. How are you feeling today?”

She sat up and shrugged.

“Warmer?”

Another shrug.

Dr. Morozov didn’t seem too bothered by this. In fact, he smiled even wider. It was the closest she’d come to a formal response since she’d arrived, and she guessed he was willing to take what he could get.

He reached for her right hand. She laid it in his and watched as he carefully unwrapped the gauze, humming a tune she didn’t recognize. When the gauze had been thrown away, he moved down to her legs, shifted her blanket to the side, and took off the bandages that littered her shins. She stared at her hand, at the red line that ran across the middle. She tried to flex it and sucked in a sharp breath as the raw skin pulled and contracted.

When Dr. Morozov had finished, he looked at her from the end of the bed.

“Well, I don’t think we need to chop off the legs,” he told her, chuckling at his own joke. “No more bandages down here, but I would keep that hand covered for a few more days, just to be safe, yeah?”

She nodded as he grabbed a fresh roll of gauze and returned to the side of her bed. As he wrapped her hand up again, he told her about the drawing his daughter Savina made for him the day before and how his son Yuri had decided he was going to be a professional ice hockey player one day. She listened intently, drinking in every word. It was the most contact she had with the world outside the hospital. The normal world.

Her hand bandaged, Dr. Morozov left the room with another smile, and she was alone again. Well, not completely alone. She knew Happy was right outside the door, standing guard. He’d gotten to the hospital two days after she’d been admitted and she saw him peek in through the glass wall from time to time, and every once in a while, he would poke his head in. He’d do a visual sweep of the room and pull his head back out the door. She wished he would talk to her, though. She wanted to hear what was going on back home, with the company and the compound and whatever, anything to take her mind off of her thoughts, but he wasn’t volunteering those details and she could never bring herself to ask.

“Mags?”

Speak of the devil.

Maggie turned her head and saw Happy standing in the doorway. His hair stuck up in odd places. The black suit he’d worn every day of her life was rumpled and wrinkled in places, his tie slightly askew. He had a pile of clothes draped over his arm with a pair of Maggie’s shoes in his hand.

“Doc gave you the thumbs up,” he said, quietly shutting the door behind himself. “I’ve got the jet waiting at an airfield about twenty minutes away. If we hurry, we could be stateside by sunrise.”

His hopeful smile fell flat. She knew he was just trying to lift her spirits a little, and she appreciated it, she really did, but it was pointless. Her birthday had been ruined long before she got to the hospital, and it wasn’t going to get any better going back to an empty compound.

“Dad?” she asked, her voice raspy from neglect.

Happy only shook his head.

Maggie’s chest tightened. A cruel part of her was glad for that. It meant more time before her punishment for Germany. The rest of her felt sick to her stomach for enjoying the idea. What kind of daughter was she, to be so self-absorbed when he’d nearly been killed not a week earlier?

 _So were you,_ a traitorous voice in her head whispered.

Brushing the voice aside, Maggie swung her legs over the side of the bed. Happy moved forward and offered her the clothes he’d brought her from home—a t-shirt, jeans, and a pair of Converse. Not her favorite pair, unfortunately, since they’d been taken from her, but these would do. The jeans were an interesting choice for the middle of June, but they would cover the bruises and scrapes on her legs, and she couldn’t complain about that. And of course, her denim jacket, a gift from Steve for last year’s birthday.

Maggie took the clothes from Happy and waited until he’d turned around to change out of her plain blue hospital gown. Her jacket seemed heavier than it had been, but Maggie shrugged it on anyway. She tried to ignore the way her heart clenched as her fingers skimmed over the material for the first time in… god, only a week. It felt like so much longer.

“You ready?” Happy asked, still facing away from her.

Pausing, Maggie glanced around the tiny hospital room. She wouldn’t miss the lumpy pillows or the paper-thin blankets, and she wouldn’t miss the bleak view from the window, and she definitely wouldn’t miss the stupid TV that only played Russian news broadcasts no matter how hard she tried to change the channel.

“Ready,” Maggie answered.

They crossed the room together, and Happy held the door open for her. The hallway outside was a dreary white, so dull it looked almost gray. A few nurses traveled back and forth between rooms further down the corridor. Maggie noticed the heads turning as she walked past. She kept her gaze straight ahead.

Dr. Morozov was waiting by the front desk when they arrived. Setting down his clipboard, he stopped them before they could leave. He offered Maggie his hand. She shook it.

“Good luck, Miss Stark,” he said with a soft smile.

She couldn’t return it.

Dr. Morozov stepped aside. Maggie didn’t wait for Happy before striding out the door, pulling her jacket tighter against the chill of the night.

❀⎊❀

Maggie spent most of the flight to New York watching the clouds. It had always calmed her on long plane rides. When she was little, she used to see all sorts of shapes in them—dinosaurs and dragons and unicorns and sea creatures—and she’d pretend they were long lost friends coming back to her after a trip around the world. They were fluffy hugs, cotton candy, and the bounciest trampoline ever, and anything else her brain could think of. She would watch as the wispy clouds stretched apart and drifted away, like a message in a bottle floating across the sea.

Now they were just condensed water vapor.

Across the aisle, Happy let out a soft snore. Maggie pulled her gaze from the clouds to look at him. She envied his ability to sleep so soundly.

Anxiety began creeping into her thoughts, dragging up things she didn’t have the energy to deal with just then, and she stood from her chair. Everything in the jet was the same as it had been when she was small. Same minibar, same upholstery, same carpet. She used to take comfort in that, in the familiarity. Ironically enough, it kept her grounded in the craziness of impulsively flying from one time zone to another whenever her father felt they needed a change of scenery. But as Maggie paced the length of the cabin, rolling her necklace in her fingers, it all felt so… different. Too small and cramped. Too similar to the cell.

When they touched down on the runway, Maggie felt like she could finally let out the sigh of relief that seemed caught in her chest during the flight. As she followed Happy down the steps of the jet, Maggie pulled in a long breath through her nose and closed her eyes. The sweet summer air of upstate New York had never smelled so good.

She slid into the passenger seat of the sleek black car that was waiting across the tarmac. Happy drove them back to the compound. The ride was exceedingly long and terribly quick at the same time. She was more than happy to be out of Russia and back home, but the thought of the compound had her heart running a marathon in her chest.

As the compound came into view, looming taller with every meter they drove, her heart set its sights on the finish line. Maggie let out a shaky breath.

“You okay?” Happy asked.

“Peachy,” Maggie said quietly.

Parking around the back, where only the team could enter the building, Happy killed the engine. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and cleared his throat.

“Listen, Mags,” he said, and he turned in his seat to look at her, “if there’s anything you need, just—just let me know, okay? Call me or send me a text message or whatever. And I mean anything.”

Maggie nodded.

Happy opened his mouth like he wanted to say more, but decided against it. He gave her a tight-lipped smile instead.

Maggie waited just a moment longer in the car before pushing open the door and stepping outside. The sun was just beginning to rise over the tops of the trees, filling the sky with bright yellows and oranges that faded into soft blues. An early morning breeze tugged at her dark hair. She was grateful for the jeans now.

Before she could shut the car door, she heard Happy call, “Hey, wait!”

Maggie ducked her head to look at him.

“I know today… kinda sucks,” he said bluntly, “but for what it’s worth—happy birthday, kid.”

 _Kinda sucks_ was the biggest understatement, but Maggie gave him a small smile, her voice soft as she replied, “Thanks, Uncle Happy.”

She straightened up, closed the door, and forced herself to walk toward the back door. Everything inside was perfectly neat. She could see the cars lined up in a row through the wrap-around windows. A single Quinjet sat tucked away in its hangar, looking lonely without its companion. Even Steve’s motorcycle was still there, waiting at the edge of the room for its rider.

Maggie punched in her security code on the keypad next to the door. A digitized bell rang, the locks clicked, and the red light above the door turned green. She pushed on the handle and stepped inside.

_“Welcome back, Miss Stark.”_

Maggie jumped as FRIDAY’s voice echoed around the garage.

“Hey, FRIDAY,” she mumbled, trying to calm her racing heart.

Maggie thought FRIDAY was going to say more, maybe chew her out for being at the compound without her father, but the AI was unnaturally silent. FRIDAY always had a comment or two for her when she got to the compound, usually about dinner duty or who was around to keep her company, so to hear nothing put Maggie on edge. And then she realized there probably wasn’t anyone whose presence FRIDAY felt needed announcing. Everyone was either in prison, running away, or in recovery.

And with that pleasant thought in mind, Maggie made her way across the garage and into the main residential building. Her footsteps bounced off the walls and trailed after her like a shadow as she passed through the corridor. Her hair stood on edge. The compound had never been this quiet.

The common room was a disaster, Maggie could see that before she walked in. It was even worse up close. The crater Wanda had created in the middle of the room, almost completely blocking the path to the bedrooms, was massive. Maggie was careful not to step on any loose pieces of marble as she skirted around the side. The last thing she needed was to fall three stories and end up however deep into the earth Wanda had pushed Vision.

The kitchen was relatively untouched, save for a missing knife and the arrow sticking out from the side of the island. It looked more like someone had just gotten their morning cup of coffee and forgot to straighten up—one of the tall green chairs at the island turned to the side, a cabinet left open just a fraction. Not like it had been abandoned for a week.

Luckily, the other areas of the common room didn’t seem to have taken any damage. Maggie guessed she should be grateful for that, at least. Though if she was honest with herself, she would much rather have had a ripped up common room than a torn-apart family.

There was nothing she could do about it now.

Maggie cleaned things up as best she could. She threw away the pieces of lemon someone left on the counter, along with the basket of fruit that, with no one around to eat it, was starting to go bad. As she dropped the cutting board into the sink, she noticed there were coffee grounds in the disposal. Coffee grounds. Dad hated coffee grounds in the garbage disposal. He said they caused backups.

 _Dad’s not here right now, though,_ the voice from before reminded her.

Maggie shook her head. No, he wasn’t. That much was obvious. And she didn’t know when he would be coming back.

 _If he’s coming back,_ another voice whispered.

All at once, Maggie was gasping, leaning against the counter in front of the sink. The air was too thin, and there wasn’t enough of it, and Maggie couldn’t _breathe_. What if the voice was right? What if he didn’t come back? What if he decided that was her punishment, to be left alone again in the ruins of their home, with only her memories of when her family had been together and happy? Her father wasn’t cruel, was he?

Maggie’s sharp breaths kept getting faster, and she realized she was dangerously close to having an asthma attack.

As quickly as she could manage, Maggie stumbled out of the kitchen and down to her bedroom at the end of the long hallway. She fumbled with the brass knob for a second before finally shoving open her door. Maggie went straight for her suitcase sitting in the corner, digging through her piles of clothes until she found her inhaler in a side pocket. She followed the instructions she’d been given when she was little and immediately, the pressure on her chest lessened.

For a few minutes, she sat there just appreciating being able to breathe again. Then, as the residual panic slowly faded, she fixed the mess she’d made of her clothes and stood up. She looked around her bedroom for the first time since she’d left with Clint and Wanda a week earlier. It was modest, smaller than any of her other bedrooms, but she’d never minded.

It hadn’t changed much. The curtains were drawn, letting in the morning sunlight. Her bed looked slept-in but not a total mess. The nightlight in the bathroom had been left plugged into the wall.

The lush carpet cradled her shoes as Maggie walked over to the bed and hopped up onto it. She crawled across the sheets, coming to sit on the side with her feet dangling above the floor. Usually, there would be someone sitting next to her, Dad or Nat or—

Maggie suddenly reached out and grabbed one of the picture frames that was on her bedside table, cradling it delicately in her hands. The frame itself was a pale yellow and decorated with white stickers shaped like stars. But it wasn’t the frame that had caught her eye. It was the picture—Maggie and her best friend standing side by side in front of the base of the Washington Monument in D.C. They’d stopped by on their way to visit her Aunt Peggy.

_Ex-best friend._

Thirteen years old and all of five feet, the top of her head hardly brushed his broad shoulders. His arm lay around her protectively, holding her close. The photograph caught her in the middle of a laugh. A smile dancing on his lips, his eyes glowed with his own laughter as he looked down at her.

Had he known then?

The possibility had her stomach in knots. She didn’t want to even entertain the idea that he could look at her like that knowing what his friend did to her family. It was easier to believe that he had no idea yet.

What else had he hidden from her, though? What else did she not know about him?

He’d said he loved her. He’d said that he’d protect her, that he’d make sure their family stayed together. He had promised her, before every mission and every fight, that he would keep her father safe.

What other lies had Steve Rogers told her?

Maggie stared at the picture. He was supposed to be her _best_ _friend_.

She hated him. She hated him more than she’d ever hated someone in her life. But she loved him, too. And she hated that she couldn’t _stop_ loving him.

Tears pricked at her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She had to be strong, right? That’s what she’d always been told. Starks were strong. They weren’t allowed to show weakness. They weren’t allowed to be vulnerable.

She knew it was all bullshit anyway. That they were not indestructible. That they could and had been broken down, cracked open like a geode, only without the gem tucked away inside. But that didn’t stop the guilt from crashing down over her because she was still a Stark and Starks were always supposed to be strong and _why couldn’t she be strong?_

Maggie looked at Steve’s smiling face, at the warmth in his eyes and the way he held her close, and she decided that was bullshit too. Everything in her life was turning out to be a bunch of grade-A bullshit.

Her grip on the frame tightened until the sharp edges dug into her skin, until the healing bruises and scrapes that dotted her knuckles turned an ugly pale white. Blood seeped through the bandages over her right palm. Maggie gasped at the thrill of pain that shot up her arm.

She didn’t mean to throw it. It just kind of… happened. She didn’t realize she was doing it until the frame had left her hand. She watched it sail through the air, shattering as it slammed into the wall. Glass and wood rained down onto the carpet. Maggie let out a shaky breath as she watched the picture flutter to the ground, coming to rest on a chunk of wood sticking out of the pile.

Her hand was bleeding. Maggie rose to her feet and left her room without looking back. She walked to the supply closet where they kept the first aid kit. Dr. Morozov would have been disappointed to hear that she needed to change her bandages so quickly. His face appeared in her mind—his brows furrowed, head tilted, the corner of his mouth tugged into a frown.

She shook the image out of her head before it could add to the guilt piling up in her chest.

As she wrapped her hand with a fresh roll of gauze, she was grateful that she hadn’t ripped any of her stitches. Having to go back to a hospital was not very high on her list of things she wanted to do.

Maggie spent the rest of the day doing chores. It was as much a surprise as it was oddly comforting. Taking out the garbage, wiping down the equipment in the training room, cleaning up the mess Wanda, Clint, and Vision had made in the common room—they were mindless tasks, but they kept her busy. Kept her thoughts off of everything that had happened. Besides, no one had been around for a week, and there was so much that needed to be done, so she never found the time to sit around with her thumbs up her ass.

She chuckled under her breath. That was a Dad line. It always made her laugh when she was little because _“Daddy said a bad word!”_ He’d never been good at watching what he said when she was in the room, and the rest of the team wasn’t much better. Sam and Uncle Rhodey swore like their lives depended on it, and even Nat had been known to drop a curse now and then. Steve had by far the worst mouth she’d ever heard. His foul language put the perfect image of America’s Golden Boy to shame. Maggie had definitely picked up her cursing habit from all of them because Mama never swore around her.

Maggie’s hands stilled over the basket of leftover laundry she’d been folding at the thought of Pepper. She hadn’t seen her in so long. Not since before her birthday the previous year. She wondered if Pepper even remembered what day it was, if she would call to wish her a happy birthday. Maggie’s hopes weren’t high. She hadn’t called last year.

Maggie swallowed around the lump in her throat and kept folding the laundry. What did it matter anyway? Maggie didn’t know if she would even want to talk to Pepper if she called. If anything, she thought it might make her feel even worse.

Fifteen was turning out to be the worst birthday of her life.

Lunch passed. No one sat at the island with her. No one tried to steal her food or make a joke at her expense.

Maggie baked herself the chocolate and vanilla cake that she was supposed to make with Wanda and Nat. She cleaned up the glass and wood on the carpet in her room as she waited for the cake to cool, then decorated it with swirls of yellow icing and rainbow sprinkles, just like how she’d been planning to for the last month. Digging through one of the drawers in the kitchen, she pulled out two of the number-shaped candles and placed the blue _one_ and the red _five_ right in the center.

After dinner, she lit both wicks. For a second she just watched the candles burn, laying her chin in her hands. She drew in a deep breath, held it for just a second as she made her wish, then blew hard. The flames sputtered before going out. Maggie cut herself a corner piece and ate her sad little birthday cake all by herself.

And as she lay in bed that night, covers tucked under her chin, and watched the digital clock on her nightstand blink with _11:59 pm_ , she screwed her eyes shut.

“Happy birthday, Mags,” she whispered into her pillow, holding back her tears.

The clock beeped. Midnight.

Her wish didn’t come true.


	2. One Foot Out the Door

Dad came back to the compound five days after Maggie’s birthday.

He’d been spotted leaving the hospital in Moscow and by the time he boarded the jet to go home, paparazzi photos had already started circulating on social media. Twitter was abuzz with speculation about his injuries. _Tony Stark_ , _Iron Man_ , and _#avengersbreakup_ all had their turns trending at number one before _Hamilton_ reclaimed the throne.

That was how Maggie found out. Not from Happy or her father himself, from a freaking TMZ article. There were already a few reporters gathering at the front gates down the drive, waiting for his return. They were about seven hours too early, though, and he would take the back entrance anyway, so they were setting up all their equipment and stuff for nothing. Served them right. It was disgusting to Maggie that people found a man being released from the hospital newsworthy.

But the worst part, by far, was watching the clock count down the hours and minutes until he arrived—and with him, her inevitable punishment.

She could still see the anger, the _betrayal_ , in his eyes, hear the rage in every syllable of her name—her full name—as he spoke. She had never seen him as furious as she had then, at the airport in Leipzig. The thought of facing that again made her stomach roll.

She was in her bedroom when he arrived, but she didn’t come out to greet him. Maggie was… not avoiding him, necessarily, so much as she was waiting, though for what, she wasn’t entirely sure.

The knock on her bedroom door came that night.

“Hey, Mags?”

Maggie’s heart crawled into her throat as she slowly closed her laptop.

“I’m, uh, I’m back,” he said through the door. There was something in his voice, a hesitation that didn’t seem possible from someone like him. “No homecoming for your old man, huh?”

Maggie stayed silent. Even if she’d wanted to respond, she wasn’t sure she could. Her tongue was heavy in her mouth, dry as sandpaper.

“Right, sorry, not exactly the best time for jokes, I get it,” he said. He let out a sigh. “I know things are… not… great… right now, but I want you to know that I’m—I’m here for you if you want to talk about… any of it. I won’t make you if you don’t want to, obviously, because this is, you know, hard stuff, but I’m here if you do. Want to. Talk.”

Her father was an expert in a lot of fields—science, math, engineering. Emotions had never been on that list. He usually left that up to Pepper when she was around. Not because he _couldn’t_ talk about emotions and stuff, because Maggie knew he could, it was just hard for him. But since Pepper left them, he’d had to take on all the touchy-feely heart-to-hearts himself.

“Uncle Rhodey’s coming over from Columbia Medical in a couple days to try out some new legs,” he told her, trying to sound more upbeat and positive. “I’m sure he’d love to see you.” There was a beat of silence on the other side of the door before she heard him sigh again. “Hey, listen…”

Maggie waited, breath caught in her chest, for the other shoe to drop. Her hands found her necklace.

“I know things are… well, you know how they are. But I’m here, okay?” He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was soft. “I love you, bug. I hope you know that.”

Maggie felt all the air leave her as his footsteps retreated down the hall.

Why hadn’t he said anything about Germany? What was he waiting for? If he was going to yell at her, or maybe ground her for life, she wanted to get it over with. Why did he want to prolong it? Just to torture her even more?

With shaking hands, Maggie opened up her computer, her last page still open on the screen. Smiling faces stared back at her under a bright blue welcome banner for Midtown School of Science and Technology. She’d talked about it with Dad before the Accords, about enrolling in the fall and staying at the penthouse full time, but never seriously. There were so many what-ifs and circumstances that needed to be considered. It had never been a real possibility before, and Maggie had been fine with that.

But now…

She pulled up her email again, opening the most recent message.

_“We look forward to seeing you in September, Miss Stark!”_

Was she really going to do this? _Could_ she do it?

 _Of course, you can,_ said the voice at the back of her head. _There’s nothing here for you anymore._

Maggie bit her lip. The voice was right. The compound had been shrinking around her since she got back, the walls drawing closer with every breath she took. Her little bedroom was more like the prison cell than her bedroom and every night she fell asleep terrified she would wake up on that slab of a bed while Ross laughed at her from the other side of the bars.

❀⎊❀

Even in the heat of summer, upstate New York was still beautiful. The trees beyond the guardrails blurred together in a mess of green and brown as they passed by. A cloudless bright blue sky framed the foliage from above, and the sun shone brightly outside the car.

Maggie pulled her gaze away from the scene beyond her window, turning forward in her seat. Regret bubbled up in her chest at the thought of trading all that greenery for the monochrome skyscrapers of the city. There was Central Park, sure, but it just wouldn’t be the same as waking up to the sweet smell of the pine trees in the forest at the edge of the grounds.

 _Remember,_ Maggie told herself, _you wanted this._

“What’s the matter?”

Maggie shook herself out of her thoughts. “What?”

“What’s wrong?” Happy repeated, stealing a glance at her. “You’re making a face.”

“No, I’m not,” she said.

Happy gave her a look when the traffic allowed. “Yeah, you are. You’re making that ‘I’m pissed at myself’ expression.”

“I don’t have an ‘I’m pissed at myself’ expression!”

“Tell that to your face, kid.”

Maggie twisted against her seatbelt and stuck her tongue out at him. Happy just rolled his eyes.

Flopping back in her seat, Maggie let out an annoyed huff and said, “It’s nothing, Uncle Happy.”

He gave her his patented side-eye. “Doesn’t seem like nothing.”

“Not something you need to worry about.” Maggie sent him a pointed look.

Happy shrugged. “Alright, fine. Be that way, little miss sourpuss.”

Maggie scowled and crossed her arms over her chest. He hadn’t called her that since she was a little kid, and she’d hated it then, too.

“Does Tony know you’re going into the city by yourself?” Happy asked a few minutes later.

“Yes,” she answered a little too quickly. Happy looked over at her and quirked an eyebrow in that annoying way he did when he could somehow tell she was lying. She tried to ignore him and his stupid eyebrow, but he wouldn’t give in, and she relented, “Fine, he doesn’t.”

“So, what, you’re keeping secrets now?”

“No! It’s not a secret!”

“If it wasn’t a secret, you would have told him,” Happy pointed out.

“I don’t have to tell Dad every single thing I do,” Maggie shot back. Under her breath, she added, “He’s got enough to deal with right now.”

Happy’s brows furrowed. “Is that what this is about? You know he’d choose you over all the Accords and political crap, no question.”

“No, it’s not about the Accords, either! It’s—” Maggie threw her hands up and groaned. “It’s complicated, you wouldn’t understand,” she said.

“Try me.”

Maggie opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

Happy gave her another glance, a certain amusement to his smirk. “See, here’s what I think. I think something happened with you and Tony—aside from all the Avengers and Accords stuff—and you don’t know how to deal, so you’re running away to the penthouse so you don’t _have_ to deal.”

“I am _not_ running away,” Maggie snapped, giving him a sharp glare.

“You’re going into the city without telling your old man,” said Happy. “Sounds like running away to me.” The rumble of the engine filled the car in the silence that followed. Happy stole another glance at her as they traveled further down the highway, and his features softened. “I know you, Mags. You never do anything without a good reason.”

Maggie bowed her head, looking down at her hands in her lap. She’d stopped wearing the bandages a few days earlier. Compared to her left palm, her right looked ugly in the sunlight—angry red and raw, the cut pulling at the skin around it as it continued to heal.

“I just—need to clear my head, that’s all,” she said finally, her voice small, quiet. “The last few weeks have been… a lot.”

She heard Happy sigh. “I know, kid.”

Neither of them spoke again until after they’d stopped for an early dinner in Fort Lee, just before crossing over from New Jersey into New York. Maggie listened to Happy rant about the shitty directions his car’s navigation system gave him.

“Why the hell would we go through Jersey just to go _back_ into New York? These directions make no freakin’ sense—”

Maggie just laughed at him. For having spent so much time around a tech genius like her father, it was honestly some kind of strange miracle that Happy was still so technology inept. But then again, he wouldn’t really be Happy if he weren’t.

As they were driving through the Bronx, Happy said suddenly, “By the way, happy birthday. Again. Check the center console, I forgot I got something for you.”

Maggie looked at him in surprise. “You didn’t have to get me anything!”

“‘Course I did,” he said. “Now, come on, open it up.”

Heart fluttering in anticipation, Maggie lifted the cover of the center console and plunged her hand into the darkness. She came back up with a small, misshapen box that looked like it had been wrapped by a three-year-old. Laughing a little at the excessive amount of tape keeping it together, she ripped off the bright orange wrapping paper as best she could. Underneath she found a blue velvet jewelry box, and when she opened the lid, she gasped.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed.

“You like it?”

Inside the jewelry box was an intricately carved silver charm in the shape of a violin, with a tiny bow resting across its strings. The whole thing couldn’t have been much bigger than her thumbnail.

Happy peeked over at her. “Figured you could put it on your necklace?”

Maggie couldn’t find the right words. She had so many pieces of expensive jewelry back at the compound and the penthouse—Parisian diamond bracelets, gold hoop earrings from Milan—but that little charm meant more to her than all of them combined. As carefully as she could, she unclasped the chain around her neck and fed the end through the small metal loop at the top of the violin. She let it slide down and helped it over the pieces of shrapnel that made up the middle of the chain until it settled at the bottom, safely nestled inside her _Abuela’s_ wedding ring.

Turning in her seat, Maggie smiled widely at him. “Thank you so much, Uncle Happy. I love it.”

“No problem, kid,” Happy replied, taking a hand off the steering wheel to ruffle her hair.

Maggie played with her necklace while they fought their way through rush-hour traffic on the Whitestone Bridge, watching how the light from outside caught the charm and ring; they made tiny rainbows every so often, when the sun hit the silver at just the right angle.

The sun hung low in the sky by the time they made it to Queens, leaving the high-rises and apartment buildings awash in yellow and orange and pink, but the city that never sleeps did not disappoint. Even with the windows up, Maggie could hear the cacophony of honking cars and distant train whistles. Street performers stood on every other corner, putting on a show for passersby. Art and graffiti in bold, popping colors dotted the sides of building after building.

Everyone was always in some kind of hurry in the city. It seemed like no one ever took a second to slow down and appreciate the things around them. Commuters and tourists alike pushed their way through the people around them on the congested sidewalks, rushing back home or off to see another landmark.

If someone really wanted to, they could probably step on the sidewalk and into the crowd and just—disappear. Vanish among the populace of New York City, never to be seen again.

After the Avengers moved upstate and the Tower was retired from use, the Starks started renting the penthouse of a grossly overpriced and expensive apartment building in Queens. Maggie and her father split their time fairly evenly between the penthouse, the compound, and the other half dozen homes they had scattered around the globe.

The building loomed tall and impressive above them as Happy drove around the block. Eyes climbing up as high as she could see out her window, Maggie watched the little people on the balconies outside of each room until she couldn’t anymore, until Happy turned down the tunnel that led to the underground parking lot and the little people on the balconies disappeared from view. Happy flashed his red parking pass to the security guard on duty, pulled into a spot close to the elevators, and killed the engine.

He didn’t say anything at first, just stared at the keys in his hand. The levity from before had been replaced by a strange tension that Maggie could feel in every nerve of her body, one that threatened to choke her from the inside out. She knew exactly what was coming. She couldn’t ignore its inevitability now that they were at the penthouse, but she’d never wished she could more than that moment.

Happy sighed and turned in his seat.

“You know you can talk to me, right?” he told her.

Maggie nodded, but she couldn’t meet his eyes. “Yeah, I know.”

They lapsed into silence once more. Happy opened and closed his mouth a few times, like he’d figured out what he wanted to say before thinking better of it. For the longest time, they sat together in the car, waiting for the other to make the first move but neither willing to do it themselves.

It was Happy, in the end, who let out something that sounded like a mixture between a grunt and a sigh before pushing open his door and stepping out of the car. Maggie was a second behind him. She found him at the trunk, her suitcase in one hand and violin case in the other. They walked to the elevator bank together, and Happy jabbed his thumb at the button.

Bouncing on her tiptoes, Maggie watched the lights above the door frame blink on and off as the elevator descended to meet them. Her heart sped up in her chest, hammering against her ribs like a bass drum in a rock concert.

She spun abruptly. “Uncle Happy?”

He looked at her expectantly.

Anything she’d thought of saying faded into white noise in her head and she stood there like an idiot, mouth hanging open wide enough to catch flies.

Before she could stop herself, Maggie flung her arms around his middle and hugged him so fiercely Happy stumbled back a step. As he regained his balance, he let go of her suitcase and violin case and wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close. Her eyes fluttered shut in his secure embrace.

“You’re gonna be okay, kid,” he told her with a confidence she wished she could have.

“How do you know that?” Maggie asked softly. Fear strangled her voice, muffled by his suit jacket, but she didn’t hide it; she never needed to with Happy.

“I told you already—I know you,” he said. When he pulled away, Maggie opened her eyes and looked at him, confusion playing across her face. “I know that you’re Maggie Stark, and Maggie Stark is passionate and brave, and she’s got a good head on her shoulders and the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever met.”

“But what if she’s not?” Maggie asked. Her eyes searched his desperately. “What if everyone thinks she’s brave, but really she’s scared? She’s scared a-and she doesn’t know what to do, and she’s worried that whatever she does do, it’ll only make things worse?”

Happy considered this. “Well, I guess I’d tell her not to worry. Things have a funny way of working out the way they’re supposed to, you know? But it’s okay to be scared. You wouldn’t be human if you weren’t scared of stuff. And I know for a fact that Maggie Stark is as human as they come, in the best way possible.”

Maggie just buried her face in his chest and hugged him even tighter.

“Thank you,” she whispered, trying to put into those words everything she couldn’t say.

“Anything for you, Mags,” Happy replied.

She let go of him just as the elevator doors opened. With trembling hands, she grabbed her things and walked onto the lift, but she stuck her foot out before the doors could close.

“Hey, um—”

“Yeah?”

Maggie bit her lip.

“Can you just… make sure Dad doesn’t do anything stupid while I’m gone?” she asked. “I’m—I’m worried about him.”

Happy’s expression softened. “Sure, I got him. You just clear your head, alright?”

Maggie shot him a small smile and nodded.

As the silver doors sealed shut and the elevator began to rise, she swore she saw Happy wipe at his eyes. She dismissed the thought as soon as it occurred. Happy didn’t cry. That was a fact. He was a stone wall, unmoved, emotionless. He just… didn’t cry.

The doors opened and Maggie stepped out into the extravagantly decorated lobby. A crystal chandelier hung from the high ceiling, showering the expansive room in light and hundreds of tiny rainbows. Ornate marble columns lined the middle of the room, creating a path from the elevator to the front desk, past the sitting area full of lavish cushioned chairs, and out the revolving door.

That’s where Maggie was headed. Tightening her grip on her bags, she power-walked through the lobby, gaze fixed on the floor in front of her until she had pushed through the doors and out onto the sidewalk.

After being cooped up in a quiet hospital room and the empty compound, the sheer volume of noise down on the streets of New York hit Maggie like a brick wall. Those low horns she’d heard during the drive blared in her ears as the cars sped through the intersection. The train whistles three blocks away were loud and shrill.

And the _people_. They kept their heads down, eyes glued to the screens of their smartphones until the moment they were crossing the street. Then as soon as they’d made it to the other side, they were back to watching cat videos or scrolling through social media.

Standing on the street corner, Maggie fished her phone out of her pocket and checked the address she’d been given. According to the map, she was only twenty minutes away—by car.

Her heart sank as she looked down at the suitcase and violin case in her hands; they felt a lot heavier than they had a moment before.

Starks sure as hell weren’t quitters, though, especially not because of a little walking. With a choked breath of cigarette smoke and something sweet and salty, Maggie raised her head, gritted her teeth, and readjusted her grip on her things as she set off down Bowman Avenue.

Even as evening fell and brought along the promise of night, Queens was still thriving and full of life. Maggie passed families eating dinner at tables outside neighborhood restaurants, couples strolling hand in hand, friends giggling up a storm about the latest gossip and drama.

Wisteria Towers was the tallest building on the block, made of earthy red bricks and dark grey concrete. Inside, the lobby had a few scattered chairs and couches, a counter full of computers from the dinosaur age, and a water cooler stationed in the corner of the room. It was nice—not too fancy, not too plain.

It didn’t take long to find the elevator. Maggie bit back a groan at the _Out of Order_ sign taped onto the door. Of course it was out of order, why on earth would it actually be working?

Her eyes landed on the entrance to the stairs across the small hallway. Pulling out her hair one strand at a time sounded more fun than climbing up to the fifth floor, but Maggie shoved open the door to the stairwell anyway. She craned her neck to see the ceiling high above her, her eyes following the sharp swirl of the stairs.

Five flights.

_Better start climbing, Mags._

Carrying a suitcase with wheels up the stairs was hard enough, but an unwieldy violin case made it damn near torture. It smacked the back of her leg every time she made it up to the next step, and Maggie was sure it would leave a nice bruise as a gift for her in the morning. It seemed like an eternity had passed by the time she reached the fifth floor, panting like a dog in the early summer heat.

Taking a moment to catch her breath, Maggie reached into the back pocket of her jean shorts for her phone to double check the apartment number; she would have been absolutely mortified if she knocked on the wrong door. She read it once, twice, three times, and looked up.

The hallway was like the rest of the building Maggie had seen so far—nice enough, but nothing special. The dark brown doors popped against the cream walls. From the entrance to the stairwell, the corridor continued in either direction, ending in a plain wall about thirty feet to the left and a sharp turn to the right. Maggie put one foot in front of the other and strode down the hall, eyes following the brass numbers on each door as they steadily increased.

Apartment 521 appeared in front of her before she’d even realized.

Before she could change her mind, Maggie knocked on the wood three times.

A second passed, and then another. Worry crept into Maggie’s mind that she’d read the numbers wrong.

Just as she’d opened her phone to check _again_ , the lock turned, the door swung open, and Maggie found herself face to face with an older woman. Mid-forties, maybe. She wore big, thick glasses, a blue tank top, shorts, and a pretty necklace. Her dark hair had been thrown up in a messy bun, but a few strands had fallen out, framing her thin face.

“Maggie?” she asked hopefully.

Maggie nodded.

The woman grinned widely as she opened the door all the way and ushered Maggie through. “I knew it. Come in, come in! We’ve been waiting for you!”

The apartment itself was rather small. A cramped kitchen waited just past the doorway. Black countertops rested on a set of light teal cabinets. A few dishes in the sink waited to be cleaned, various odds and ends like a coffee machine and a knife block lined the tiled wall. By the window, a small table set for four was nestled against a high-backed bench that jutted out from the wall and separated the kitchen from the rest of the apartment.

Beyond the bench was the den. Mountains of cardboard boxes stacked on top of one another made the room seem much more like a maze than a living room, though Maggie could just barely see a bookshelf if she stood on her tiptoes.

“Oh, yeah, sorry about the mess,” the woman said, her eyes following Maggie’s. “We’re still unpacking a few things.”

 _A few things_ seemed like an understatement, but Maggie wasn’t going to be the one to point that out. “Did you guys just move?”

“Earlier this week,” she answered. “My goodness, where are my manners?” She extended her hand. Maggie relinquished her death grip on the handle of her suitcase and shook it. “May Parker, so great to finally meet you! And these are my niece and nephew, Daisy and Peter.”

Maggie finally noticed the other two bodies hidden among the mess of boxes and packing peanuts. A boy and a girl, strikingly similar, both taller than her. The boy had messy brown curls and wore an overly large sweatshirt, despite the weather. The girl’s hair was slightly darker, pulled into a high ponytail that came to rest just below her shoulders. She wore a plain t-shirt and running shorts, both of which were covered in flecks of paint.

The boy, Peter, waved. Daisy just glared. Hand reaching to play with her necklace, Maggie gave them both a small smile.

“How was the trip?” Mrs. Parker asked. “Everything go okay?”

“Fine,” Maggie said. She looked away from Peter and Daisy, but she could still feel the weight of their gazes. “It was fine.”

“Do you want to call your parents and tell them you made it here safe?” she asked. “I’m sure they’re probably worried—”

“I already called them,” Maggie cut her off. She tried to ignore the twinge of guilt at lying when Mrs. Parker had been so nice to her already. “On the way here.”

Mrs. Parker nodded. “Well, I’m sure you must be exhausted. Peter, why don’t you show Maggie to the guest room so she can drop off her bags and get settled?”

“Sure, May.”

Peter led Maggie to the narrow hallway just inside the entrance. There were two doors on either side.

“This is me and Daisy’s room,” he told her, pointing to the door closest to the front door. He pointed to the other doors, going counterclockwise. “That’s May’s room, then the bathroom, and then the guest room. Which I guess is your room now, huh?”

Maggie followed him further down the hall. Peter pushed open the door to the guest room and stepped back for her to look inside.

The room was small—smaller than any room Maggie had ever had—and sparse. The walls held nothing except for a single open window, no pictures or decorations or even a mirror. A queen-size bed with light blue sheets took up most of the floor space. On the right side, at the head of the bed, was a small wooden nightstand with three drawers and a black digital clock. Against the other wall stood a sizable wardrobe, made from the same wood as the nightstand and bed frame.

Maggie left her things by the door to investigate further. The wardrobe and nightstand were empty. The clock showed the wrong time, but that was a simple fix. Maggie turned in a slow circle in the middle of the room.

“It’s not much right now,” Peter said as he leaned against the doorframe. “We still have some stuff to unpack from our old apartment, haven’t quite gotten around to anything from the other guest room yet. And you’ll be here for the school year, right? So you’ll probably be able to decorate it if you want, but don’t quote me on that.” He was quiet for a moment, watching her take everything in. A bit hesitant, he asked, “So… what do you think?”

Maggie looked at him and nodded once. “It’ll do.”

Peter raised an eyebrow.

It took Maggie a second before the realization hit. “Oh, no, I-I just mean—it’s fine, really. I appreciate even having the room.”

Maggie tried not to cringe at herself. God, she probably seemed like such a bitch. Hell of a great first impression. If Peter didn’t hate her already for invading their home, he probably did now.

To her surprise, he just chuckled.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I know it’s probably not as big as you’re used to.”

Maggie felt her eyes go wide, her heart stuttering in her chest. “W-What do you mean?”

Did he know? No, he couldn’t. Could he? Maggie ran through everything she’d said so far that night, trying to figure out if she’d given herself away without realizing. That would be some Stark luck if she’d accidentally revealed her “secret identity” on the first freaking night she was supposed to be undercover. Not to mention Natasha would be so disappointed in her. All those lessons on espionage wasted by her big mouth.

Maybe he’d seen photographs of her and was able to connect the dots? But she ruled that out as well. She hadn’t been around any paparazzi in a long time, and she and Dad hadn’t done any photoshoots as of late. The most recent pictures of her that the public had seen had to be from a few years ago at least.

“Just that New York’s not exactly California,” Peter responded. His voice was steady, calm, but a strange pink dusted his cheeks. Was he… embarrassed? “Why? What did you think I meant?”

Maggie opened her mouth, scrambling to find an answer, but she was saved when they heard voices coming from the den.

“—why she has to stay with us! Why couldn’t someone else from Midtown take her?”

“Because they asked us, Daisy, I thought you said you were okay with this!”

“No, I didn’t! I told you I didn’t want some stranger coming in and taking what should be _my_ room, but you wouldn’t listen to me! You never listen to me!”

Maggie and Peter exchanged a glance. Peter looked torn between being mortified and apologetic.

“Daisy, honey, keep your voice down,” Mrs. Parker pleaded.

“Why, so the stranger won’t hear?” Daisy shot back. Maggie swore she got even louder just so she _could_ hear. “I hope she does. I hope she knows she’s not welcome here!”

Mrs. Parker’s tone became sharp, stern like a mother. “Juliette Parker, that is enough. Room, now. I don’t want to hear another word from you tonight.”

“Ben would listen to me!” Daisy yelled even as her voice wavered.

A pause. The apartment fell into a harsh quiet, punctuated by angry footsteps retreating from the den into the kitchen.

Down the hall, a door slammed shut.

Deafening silence followed, the air thick with tension Maggie could feel from the other room. She looked at Peter, who had gone very still. Jaw set, eyes hard, Maggie couldn’t tell if he was angry at his sister or what she’d said.

He seemed to realize she was watching him. He shot her a tight-lipped smile, but she didn’t miss the way his hand curled into a fist at his side.

Obviously, something had happened to the Ben Daisy mentioned. Something… not good. But who was he? A brother, maybe? A cousin? She’d noticed Mrs. Parker wearing a wedding ring earlier. Maybe Ben was her son. It was none of Maggie’s business, though, and she kept her mouth firmly shut.

When Mrs. Parker came into the room a few moments later, Maggie could tell she was trying (and not entirely succeeding) really hard not to cry. Her eyes weren’t red, but her voice was strained. “How’s the room?”

“It’s—It’s great, Mrs. Parker,” Maggie assured her.

“Oh, call me May, please. Mrs. Parker makes me feel old,” she said with a wet laugh. “Uh, bathroom’s next door if you want to get ready for bed. I know it’s early but I think we could all use some sleep. That means you, too, young man.” She shot Peter a pointed look, her hands resting on her hips. Jokingly rolling his eyes, he wished the two of them goodnight before traipsing out of the room. May watched him go, worrying her lip between her teeth as she turned back to Maggie.

“I’m sure you heard everything,” she said.

Humming in agreement, Maggie ducked her head. It would be hard to pretend she hadn’t heard.

“I’m sorry about Daisy, she’s—we’ve all been through… a lot,” May explained. “I just want you to know, Maggie—” She took a deep breath. “We really are so happy to have you. And I don’t ever want you thinking that you’re not welcome here because you are, I promise.”

Maggie’s throat tightened as she looked up at her, and all she could do was nod mutely. May had known her hardly a day and already she’d shown her more kindness than most people were capable of possessing.

She didn’t have to let Maggie stay with them, especially if Daisy didn’t want her there. She could have easily called Mr. Morita, the principal at Midtown Science and Technology, let Maggie stay the night, and then kicked her out the next morning to be someone else’s problem. Hell, Maggie wouldn’t have blamed her. She knew she wouldn’t have taken too kindly to someone invading her life if things were the other way around.

It was what anyone else would have done. But May didn’t seem to be like everyone else.

She gave Maggie a small, but infinitely warm, smile. “I’m right down the hall if you need anything.”

The door closed behind her with a soft _click_.

Maggie looked around her new room again. The sounds of late evening Queens traffic floated through the open window with a sticky summer breeze.

So, this was home now.

However long _now_ turned out to be.


	3. Among the Broken Mirrors

Maggie forgot where she was when she woke up. The bare, unfamiliar room and too-soft bed sheets caught her off guard and set her heart pounding in her chest until she remembered that she was in Queens, in the Parkers’ apartment.

Drawing in a deep breath through her nose, she sat up on the bed and pulled at the knots in her hair. She glanced at the little clock to her left. Seven o’clock. The barest traces of sunlight crawled through the cracks between the curtains, lighting up the cream carpet on the floor. The people on the street didn’t seem to care what time it was; they honked their horns like they were going to get a prize for it. Maggie didn’t mind, though. Once she was awake, she had a hard time falling asleep again.

With a huge yawn, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and pushed herself to her feet. She stretched her arms over her head before making her way out of the room and into the kitchen.

May sat at the table, sipping a cup of coffee and reading a novel. She looked up when Maggie walked in.

“Morning, sunshine,” she said in a quiet voice.

“Good morning,” Maggie replied.

May stuck her bookmark in to mark her page, closed her book, and asked, “How’d you sleep?”

_Well, I never sleep anymore because of the nightmares but other than that just great!_

Maggie shrugged. “Fine.”

“That’s good, I’m glad,” she said, smiling. “You hungry?”

“Starving,” Maggie answered, and she laughed when May did.

“Well, we can’t have that, can we? How do you like your eggs?”

In no time, the kitchen was filled with the sound of eggs cracking and the sizzle of the stove. Maggie sat on the bench at the table, watching May whip up a plate of steaming scrambled eggs that she set in front of her with a wink. Maggie drowned her eggs in ketchup, then dug in. May made another serving of eggs for when Peter and Daisy woke up before sitting across from Maggie.

As Maggie ate, May told her, “I have to go to work today, unfortunately, but the kids are going to take you around the neighborhood today and show you around a little bit. Is that okay with you?”

Mouth full of eggs, Maggie nodded.

May left for work half an hour later and Maggie was by herself again, all alone in the apartment. She cleaned her plate when she’d finished her eggs, drying it with a dishtowel, but she didn’t know where they kept their plates, so she just left it on the counter and hoped May wouldn’t get mad.

She could see more of the apartment during the daytime. The walls in the den were a golden yellow, while the kitchen had a decorative wallpaper. There was a carpet in the kitchen she hadn’t noticed the night before. She was sure it would look a lot better when they got all the boxes unpacked, but it was still nice. A bit plain, but nice.

Maggie figured Peter and Daisy weren’t going to be up for a bit, so she went back to her room. She stood in the doorway for a second before she went in, worrying her lip between her teeth.

Daisy’s words from the night before hadn’t left her head. She had no idea she’d been taking the room from her, and she really felt awful about it. That had to be why Daisy had given her the cold shoulder.

Drawing in a deep breath, Maggie decided that she couldn’t change what had happened, but maybe she could make it up to her somehow. Extend an olive branch, of sorts. She had no idea what that could be, but she was sure she’d figure it out. In the meantime, she might as well get settled.

She dragged her suitcase into the middle of the room, unzipped the biggest pocket, and started unpacking her clothes, carefully and meticulously organizing them in the wardrobe and nightstand. She made sure shorts were with shorts and socks with socks and no two articles of clothing next to each other were the same color. Maggie had a system. It might not have made sense to anyone else, but it did to her, and that was what mattered. Sometimes, if one of the boys was making fun of her, she would hide his clothes somewhere in the compound while the team was on a mission to get back at him.

As she picked up one of her father’s old MIT sweatshirts and stood to hang it in the wardrobe, a worn polaroid picture fell out of the sleeve. Laying the sweatshirt on the bed, Maggie bent down and flipped over the picture.

Sometime around her thirteenth birthday, Mama and Dad had taken her with them on a business trip to France instead of leaving her with Happy or Uncle Rhodey. They “needed a family vacation,” Dad had said, and for once, he was right. The three of them hadn’t spent much time together, and the apartment in Paris was just gathering dust. There was one day in particular where both her parents had cleared their schedules and planned for a family day, but then Mama had a last-minute meeting that she couldn’t cancel.

Looking back, that meeting was the best thing that could have happened. Dad had ended up taking her out to the palace of Versailles for a father/daughter day, just the two of them. No phone calls, no superhero business. Just Maggie and her dad enjoying the gardens and grounds at Versailles.

They’d gotten someone else to take the picture for them. They stood at the end of one of the canals with the palace in the background, smiling brightly when their arms around each other. If she looked closely, Maggie could just make out a bit of chocolate on her face from the chocolate-covered strawberries Dad had packed in their picnic basket.

It was one of the best days of her life.

Maggie couldn’t remember ever spending so much quality time with her father. She knew he tried his best to spend alone time with her—an afternoon here, a breakfast date there—but Tony Stark was a busy man. Having his full, undivided attention for that long was something that had never, in her memory, happened before or since.

An ache formed in her chest as she sat back onto the bed, still holding the polaroid. Maggie felt like a completely different person to the girl in the picture. She had her face and her smile and her eyes, but the other girl felt like a doppelganger. Thirteen wasn’t much younger than fifteen, but to Maggie, it felt like a lifetime had passed between then and now. Back then, she had everything she’d ever wanted—parents who loved her, a best friend she trusted, a family who cared about her, whom she knew she could count on.

Now she had nothing but an old polaroid, an ache in her chest, and a mountain of guilt piling up with each breath she took.

A knock on the door broke her out of her thoughts. Maggie quickly tucked the picture under the MIT sweatshirt and looked up to find Peter standing in the doorway. He had on a large white t-shirt with what looked like a science pun on it, Thor pajama pants, and Iron Man socks. His hair stood on end in places, mussed up from sleep.

“Hey, didn’t mean to scare you,” he said softly.

“Oh, no, you’re fine,” Maggie said. “I just wasn’t expecting anyone else to be up this early.”

“Did May leave for work already?” he asked.

Maggie hummed.

“D’you know if she made any breakfast?”

A small smile wormed its way onto her face. “There’s leftover scrambled eggs in the fridge.”

Peter nodded in triumph, turned, and shuffled down the hall. Maggie decided to follow him into the kitchen. She sat down at the table while he heated up a plate.

“I’m guessing May told you what we’re doing today,” he said over his shoulder.

“Taking a tour of the neighborhood, apparently,” Maggie replied. She didn’t entirely know how to feel about it. On the one hand, it would be nice to visit parts of the city she hadn’t seen before. On the other, it meant a day alone with two strangers in an unfamiliar part of the city. “Sounds fun.”

Peter brought over his steaming eggs and grabbed the pepper shaker. “It’ll be great, I promise. You’ve got the greatest tour guide to show you around.”

“I assume that’s supposed to be you?”

Peter grinned. “At your service.”

As he scarfed down his food, something in the back of her head nagged at her, and she couldn’t figure out what it was. It was almost like deja vu, but… different. Not quite the same.

“Have we—” she started. Peter looked up from his plate, a bit of egg hanging from the corner of his mouth. She shook her head. “No, never mind.”

“What?”

“It’s nothing.”

“No, come on, what’s up?”

Maggie studied him for a moment. Took a deep breath and said, “I feel like I’ve met you before.”

His eyes widened. Only a fraction, but enough that Maggie noticed. “W-What? I don’t know what you’re—what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t know,” Maggie said. “I don’t know how to explain it. I just feel like we’ve met before.”

“Well, I would definitely r-remember meeting someone like you,” said Peter. “You must have me confused with someone else.”

She tilted her head, brows furrowing in concentration. Had they crossed paths before, or was she making it up in her head? Seeing connections that weren’t actually there?

But something about Peter felt so… familiar. Even his voice sounded familiar. She was sure she’d heard it before somewhere, even though she knew, logically, that she couldn’t have.

Maggie realized Peter was staring at her. She shook her head again. “You’re right, sorry. I’m probably thinking of someone else.”

Peter gave her a skeptical look before going back to his food. Maggie looked out the window as he ate, watching the clouds drift slowly past the top of the tree that was planted next to the building. Its leaves shivered with an early morning breeze. Maggie had never lived anywhere with a tree so close to the window before.

“So,” Peter said around a mouthful of eggs, “I was thinking we could go to Flushing Meadows today. It’s a bit of a hike but it’s totally worth it. And we can hit Delmar’s bodega for lunch on the way there because you have to try one of his sandwiches on your first day here, it’s mandatory.”

Maggie made a face and asked, “What’s a bodega?”

“It’s like a little corner store with snacks and sandwiches and stuff,” he explained. “There’s lots of them in the neighborhood. Trust me, though, Delmar’s is the best. Subhaven is a close second, but they use too much bread. You gotta have the perfect ratio of bread to meat to toppings, you know what I mean?”

“Not really,” Maggie admitted.

The tips of Peter’s ears went red. “Well, you will, don’t worry.”

They sat at the table together as Peter finished his eggs. He really seemed to fit into the stereotype of “growing teenage boy”—he went back for seconds _and_ thirds. Maggie was worried there wouldn’t be enough for Daisy, despite his assurances to the contrary. Besides, he told her, Daisy wasn’t one to eat a big breakfast.

Maggie was fine when the two of them were talking. Peter seemed nice so far. The thought that she knew him wouldn’t leave the back of her mind, but she tried to ignore it. She’d had a rough go of things the last few weeks, she was probably just tired or something.

When the conversation came to a lull, though, Maggie felt awkward. The silence itself wasn’t uncomfortable, but Maggie couldn’t figure out what to talk about next. What did teenagers like nowadays? Did he even like what most teenagers like? Did he have social media?

Maggie almost made herself dizzy chasing after all those questions. Part of her knew she didn’t _really_ need to worry herself so much over them. She was just nervous, if she was honest with herself. This had to be the longest conversation she’d ever had with another teenager before.

A door opened and shut somewhere in the apartment, and Daisy entered the kitchen a second later dressed in blue pajama bottoms and a grey shirt. Her dark hair was tucked in a low ponytail. As soon as she saw Maggie, she scowled.

“You’re still here,” she said, almost accusatory.

Her hostility caught Maggie off guard. She knew Daisy was mad at her for stealing the bedroom, but she’d thought her anger might fade overnight, and she would be at worst only mildly annoyed. Maggie didn’t know how to respond. She opened her mouth, trying to think of something, but Daisy had already turned her back on them and opened the fridge. Maggie looked at Peter as annoyance flickered across his face. She was pretty sure it wasn’t directed toward her.

Daisy refused to sit at the table with them. She chose to stand and lean against the counter, angrily chewing her Lucky Charms, which actually would have been funny if Maggie hadn’t been the object of her anger. She wanted to say something to defuse the mounting tension in the room, but came up empty again.

Peter shot his sister a glare. “There’s a chair right there, Dais.”

“‘M fine,” she said.

“If you say so,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, I was telling Maggie earlier, I think we should go to Flushing Meadows today. That’s, like, quintessential Queens. It’s perfect for her first day.”

Technically, Maggie had already been to Flushing Meadows before, but what Peter didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

Noisily slurping a spoonful of cereal, Daisy arched an annoyed eyebrow. “That’s almost an hour away.”

“So is Midtown, and you never complain about it,” Peter pointed out crossly. “You wanna sit around the apartment all day you can, but I’m taking Maggie to Flushing Meadows.”

“Who said you get to decide everything?”

“I’m older.”

“By sixteen minutes.”

“Best sixteen minutes of my life right now.”

Daisy’s scowl deepened. “Jeez, who put a stick up your ass?”

“You did, actually,” he shot back.

Maggie watched them go back and forth, her eyes darting from one to the other like they were playing in a verbal tennis match. She was almost in awe. The way they talked to each other, the eye rolls and irritated looks, it was so foreign to her. The closest thing Maggie had ever had to siblings were probably the bots, back in the old Malibu mansion. But Dum-E and U couldn’t speak, at least not actual sentences; their little beeps and trills usually did the job in conveying how they felt, but they weren’t quite words. Besides, robots weren’t exactly the same as having a real brother or sister.

Peter and Daisy kept up their bickering as they put their dishes in the sink, and it was very quickly getting on Maggie’s nerves. She hoped this wasn’t something that happened often. She didn’t know if she’d be able to put up with _that_ for a whole school year.

If she even made it that long.

As they continued their argument, Maggie quietly excused herself and slipped into her new room, gently shutting the door behind herself. She got changed into a pair of jean shorts and an old hand-me-down U.S. Air Force t-shirt from her Uncle Rhodey. With expert hands, she pulled her long hair back and braided it together, tying it off on the end with a ponytail holder. She chose her dark green sneakers over her usual Converse, since they were probably going to be doing a lot of walking.

Before she went back out into the kitchen, Maggie hung up her MIT sweatshirt in the wardrobe. Her polaroid picture was still on the bed, her father’s smiling face staring up at her. Maggie picked it up with her thumb and forefinger. Black Sharpie on the bottom read _Versailles, 2014_ with a tiny heart.

Maggie stuck the polaroid in a side pocket of her suitcase and joined Peter and Daisy.

They were out the door not long after. It was an absolutely gorgeous day. Bright sunlight shone down from a cloudless sky. A soft breeze made the heat bearable as they made their way down the crowded sidewalk. It seemed like everyone was outside enjoying the weather. They passed by a small playground bursting with young kids running and sliding and yelling with glee while their parents watched.

Delmar’s Deli-Grocery was a cute little corner store just a few blocks away from Wisteria Towers. Its faded red awning, stretched over the sidewalk, proudly proclaimed “Best Sandwiches in Queens.” There was a small stand out front, too, with heaping piles of pears, plums, peaches, and other juicy-looking fruits.

A soft bell rang when Peter pushed open the glass door. There were more racks of produce inside, columns of chips suspended on the walls, chilled drinks, signs advertising lottery tickets. A glass case showed off the fresh meats available for purchase. The store was fairly empty, but it was also still pretty early in the morning.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite twins!” a voice called. “How’s it goin’?”

Behind the counter stood a bigger man with greying hair and a full dark beard, save for a shock of grey on his chin. He smiled warmly at them, and he looked to Maggie like the kind of guy everyone wanted as their grandfather.

“Enjoying freedom, Mr. Delmar,” said Daisy.

Maggie hadn’t seen Daisy smile yet, and it was… indescribable. Her whole face lit up. The dark storms in her eyes seemed to melt away as the skin around her eyes crinkled up. Maggie couldn’t understand why her breath caught in her throat and her heart started beating just a little bit faster and a little bit harder in her chest. Daisy looked radiant when she smiled like that, less severe and sullen, and Maggie couldn’t find it in herself look away.

“You’ll be back in school before you know it,” Mr. Delmar told them sagely, and Maggie was inclined to believe everything he said, regardless of whether it was true. He could say the sky was green and the sun was purple, and Maggie would probably agree with him.

“We just got out!”

“Summer’ll fly by, just watch.”

He gave them a toothy grin. He tilted his head when he caught sight of Maggie, half hidden behind Peter’s body. “And who’s this?”

Peter turned and stepped away so that Maggie was in full view. He said, “This is Maggie. She’s a transfer student at Midtown, she’s staying with us for a while since she lives in California.”

“Smartypants, just like you two,” Mr. Delmar said. He gave her an appreciative nod, reaching a hand over the counter. Maggie hesitantly stepped up and shook it. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

“Thank you,” Maggie replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Leaning back, Mr. Delmar looked at the three of them jovially. “So what can I get you kids today? Usual for you two?” He pointed a finger between Peter and Daisy and they both nodded. Mr. Delmar called the order over his right shoulder before facing them again, his eyes on Maggie. “And for you?”

Maggie tilted her head back and scoured the menu above the counter. “Could I have the number three toasted with lettuce, tomato, honey mustard, and…” Her whole face screwed up in concentration. “Shit, I _just_ had it in English. What the hell is it? The—the thing, _shit_.” Maggie cycled through the languages she knew in her head, growing increasingly frustrated when she couldn’t find the word she was looking for. She knew she knew it, she had to. Groaning, she looked back at Peter and asked, “ _Sabes lo que son los pepinillos en inglés?”_

Peter’s eyes went wide. Startled, he opened his mouth to respond, but Mr. Delmar beat him to it.

“Pickles?” he asked.

It was Maggie’s turn to look surprised. She nodded gratefully. Mr. Delmar relayed the order to the cook, then turned back to Maggie.

“Your Spanish is excellent,” he told her, and Maggie tried to ignore the heat crawling up her neck. “Even better than Mr. Parker over here.”

Peter made a face as his cheeks turned red. Maggie laughed.

“I’d hope it’s good, it’s my first language,” she told the older man. “Well, technically it’s Spanglish, but same difference.”

Mr. Delmar’s eyebrows went up. “Really?”

Maggie nodded.

“So what do you speak at home, like, with your parents?” Peter asked.

“Mostly English,” Maggie said. “Mama doesn’t— _didn’t_ —know too much Spanish, it’s just me and my dad.” She grinned, remembering the trouble they got up to with the team. “Sometimes we’ll switch between the two if we don’t want the others to know what we’re talking about, or another language. It’s great for messing around with people.”

But her smile faltered, falling as she realized she’d never be able to talk shit about her friends in front of their faces again. Because her friends were all in prison, on the run. Gone.

No one else seemed to notice. The conversation moved on, and Maggie tried not to dwell on the longing tugging at her heart. Apparently Peter took Spanish; Mr. Delmar asked him all about his class this year, whether he liked the teacher, if he would continue after sophomore year.

Daisy had stayed quiet throughout all of this, from the moment Mr. Delmar had addressed Maggie. There were times when she looked like she wanted to chime in, but for whatever reason, held herself back. She shot Maggie the occasional glare, and again Maggie was struck by her animosity. She tried to look at it from a purely logical standpoint like Bruce had advised many times, but even then, it just didn’t make sense. They’d barely spoken two words to each other. How could Daisy hate her without even talking to her?

They paid for their sandwiches, chips, and sodas with a bit of cash May had left for them. As they were leaving, Mr. Delmar threw Maggie a wink and called after them, “Stay out of trouble you three!”

“No promises!” Peter called back.

Maggie paused in the doorway. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Delmar!”

_“¡Y tu, señorita!”_

She followed Peter and Daisy out of the bodega and across the street to the subway stop, her plastic bag full of food rustling against the side of her leg. Maggie had never taken public transportation before; what was the point when they had private jets and garages full of cars? She had no idea what to expect as they descended into the underground.

As it turned out, the underground wasn’t that bad at all. Not nearly as dirty or smelly as Maggie had anticipated. A little crowded, maybe, though nothing she couldn’t handle. It _was_ a little bit weird to see two very grown men dressed like schoolgirls, and a homeless woman in the corridor asked Maggie if she would let her have a lock of her hair, but there was also a woman in the second station they stopped at who played a cover of a pop song on the violin. So all in all, Maggie decided, public transit wasn’t terrible. It definitely wasn’t her favorite thing in the world, but she could live with it.

Flushing Meadows was a lot bigger than Maggie remembered it being. Then again, she’d barely seen the park the last time she was there. There were dozens of families enjoying the nice weather, kids running through their parents’ legs and dogs barking at passersby on the nature trails. Peter told Maggie about some of the park’s landmarks as they ambled along one of the paths, shaded by a line of tall, thick trees.

“They’ve got literally everything here,” he said, spreading his arms out in front of him. “A zoo, a museum, botanical garden, rec center, skate park, tons and tons of playgrounds, the New York Hall of Science—which is super awesome, by the way—plus there’s this cool amusement park that Ben and May used to take us to when we were little. And if you look really closely, you might be able to see Citi Field over there, where the Mets play.”

He paused to take a breath, allowing Maggie a moment of reprieve. Peter’s rapid-fire barrage of information was… a lot, even for her, and it didn’t seem to be stopping anytime soon, but Maggie didn’t want to be rude and ask him to slow down.

At the center of the park was a giant metal sphere with three giant rings made to look like a globe of the world. Surrounded by a huge pool of water, it was set in the middle of a circle of fountains and held up by a triangular cradle of sorts. Families gathered underneath the globe, perched on the edge of the pool as little kids stuck their hands in the water and splashed each other. The three of them walked closer, and Maggie had to crane her neck to see the top of the globe.

“This is the Unisphere,” Peter explained. “They built it for the World’s Fair in, like, the forties, I think, but it hasn’t been used for much since.”

“It was the sixties,” Maggie corrected.

Peter turned to look at her, confused. “What?”

“It was built in the sixties, commissioned for the 1964 World’s Fair held here in the park,” she said. “And then it was the center point for the Stark Expo until 1970, and again the last time the Expo was held. A hundred forty feet high, a hundred twenty feet in diameter, stainless steel. They had to restore it in 1993 because of structural damage and grime on the steel.” Maggie lowered her head and found Peter and Daisy staring at her. Heat rose to her cheeks. “I just—love history. A lot.”

Daisy rolled her eyes and went back to ignoring her. Maggie thought Peter might do the same, or get annoyed at her, but his whole face lit up.

“That’s so cool!” he said, and Maggie’s face grew even hotter. “Do you like certain kinds of history or just, like, everything?”

Maggie opened her mouth, but found she didn’t know how to respond. No one had ever asked her that before. They usually didn’t care what _kind_ of history she liked, they just wanted her to finish ranting and shut up.

“Uh, everything?” she said, giving a nervous laugh. “I mean, when I was younger, I used to read a lot about, like, World War II and that era because I heard so many stories from my aunt, but I just love learning about history in general, I think it’s absolutely fascinating.”

“That’s awesome!”

As they moved on from the Unisphere and continued along the path, Maggie and Peter fell into step. Maggie had to walk a little faster to keep up with him, but she found herself not even caring. Peter asked her more questions about her history obsession, and the conversation cycled lazily through a number of topics—what they each liked to learn about, their favorite movies and television shows. Peter explained the perfect way for the Mets to make it to the World Series and win it all, even despite their average record so far that season. Maggie talked his ear off about the classical composers she’d been studying before she left for New York.

As the morning went on, Maggie felt herself coming out of her shell more and more. Talking to Peter was so easy. He listened intently while she spoke, laughed at her dumb jokes, and waited until she was finished before adding his own thoughts. It was… nice. Different, but a good different, she thought.

Daisy trailed behind them, glowering at their backs, probably thinking of ways to get rid of Maggie without May noticing.

“Hey, check it out!”

Peter had stopped walking. Maggie glanced back to find him standing in front of the entrance to a massive open-air amphitheater. Where other parts of the park looked just like they did when they were built, the amphitheater had not been so meticulously maintained. Vines curled around the stone pillars that flanked the center aisle. The leather seats were cracked and faded from years of sun exposure. Down the ramp, large chunks of the stage had caved in and the dark curtains set along the back were shredded beyond recognition.

“This is insane,” Peter marveled. “I can’t believe this is still here. This is where they had all the big presentations during the Stark Expo a few years ago.”

Maggie wandered over to the pillar on the right, letting her fingers run over what little of the smooth stone wasn’t covered by greenery.

“We were there, you know,” he told her. “Me and Daisy. It was super last minute. We got to skip school and check out all the neat inventions and stuff, it was super cool. Except the part where the Hammer Industries drones went crazy, but you know—”

“Yeah…” Maggie said absently, her gaze lingering on the decrepit stage. _I know,_ she added silently. _I was there._

_“You ready, Mags?”_

_Happy’s breath tickled against her ear as he crouched behind her, his hands on her small shoulders. Maggie nodded. She knew what to do. They’d practiced it over and over again. She knew exactly what to say._

_She was going to make her daddy so proud._

_Maggie watched him from her spot behind the curtain side stage. He was perfect out there—confident, handsome, charismatic. He knew exactly what to say to get the crowd laughing. Maggie had already decided that she wanted to be just like him when she grew up._

_“Speaking of legacy,” Daddy said, “I’d like to introduce a very special part of my own legacy. She’s the future of Stark Industries and the cutest damn seven-year-old you ever did see—ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, my daughter, Margaret Stark!”_

_Happy let his hands drop from her shoulders. Maggie bounded onto the stage, her snow-white dress fluttering behind her. Daddy spun toward her with a huge smile on his face. Jumping into his open arms, Maggie waved at the audience as he settled her on his hip to deafening applause._

_Grinning broadly, she gathered up her confidence and announced, “Making a special guest appearance from the great beyond, please welcome my granddad, Howard Stark!”_

_The audience cheered again. The lights on stage dimmed as a video was projected onto the wall behind them, and her dad walked her over to the wings. Maggie couldn’t stop smiling. She did it! And she hadn’t messed up one bit. Daddy was going to be so proud of her, she just knew it._

_As Granddad’s voice rang through the amphitheater, his face a hundred feet tall, Daddy lowered her onto the ground in front of Happy without a word. He stepped away from them, head bent low. One of the workers unhooked the microphone from his collar while another did the same for Maggie. Any second now. It was going to happen._

_Daddy shook his head, shoved something in his pocket, and made his way over to the set of metal doors that led out of the theater._

_Maybe he’d say it at home, then._

_“Hey, great job, kiddo!” Happy said, gathering her in his arms. He lifted her in the air, holding her tightly, and raised his hand. “You were awesome!”_

_Maggie beamed and returned the high-five. “Thanks, Uncle Happy!”_

❀⎊❀

They stopped to eat their food from Delmar’s at a park bench beside a beautiful lake in the middle of the park. Meadow Lake, Peter had called it. From where they sat, they had a perfect view of the path that followed the perimeter of the lake, the paddle boats cutting through the water, and the high rises of the city across the park. Joggers and bikers passed by in both directions as the three of them unwrapped their sandwiches. Peter watched Maggie take her first bite of her sandwich with an eager grin.

“Oh, damn, that’s good!” she said.

Peter laughed. “I told you!”

“ _Wow_ , good for you, Peter,” Daisy said dryly. “You’re a real fortune teller, huh?”

Peter glared at his sister but said nothing. Maggie didn’t think ignoring her was going to help much, though. She’d tried that plenty of times with the team when they got super pissy for no reason, and it never usually ended well; she’d learned the hard way that a grouchy Wanda was a scary Wanda.

They were quiet for a while. Maggie licked a bit of honey mustard from her fingers, savoring the sweet taste. She understood why New Yorkers were so serious about their bodega things, it really was a damn good sandwich.

“So, Maggie,” Peter said as he dove into the plastic bag full of napkins, “you said you learned Spanish and English at the same time?”

She nodded around her bite of food and swallowed. “Pretty much everybody spoke English with me except _tia_ , but all the time I spent with her made up for it.”

“ _Tia_ , that’s your… aunt?” he guessed.

“The literal translation is aunt, yeah, but we weren’t related,” Maggie explained. “ _Tia_ was my nanny.”

Daisy snorted. “You have a _nanny_?”

“I _had_ a nanny,” said Maggie, “but she doesn’t work for us anymore.”

Peter’s face scrunched up in confusion. “Why’d you need a nanny?”

“My dad wasn’t around a whole lot when I was little,” she admitted. “ _Tia_ stayed at the house and watched me when he was away for business.” _And for parties and drinking and sex_ , she added in her head, but she wasn’t going to say that.

“What about your mom?” Peter asked. “Couldn’t she watch you?”

“I don’t have a mom,” Maggie said, quiet, but matter of fact.

There was a beat of painfully awkward silence. Peter’s eyes went wide, and he scrambled to apologize. “I-I had no idea, I’m so sorry. I just thought ‘cause you mentioned, back at Delmar’s—”

Maggie waved away his apology and told him, “It’s fine, Peter, don’t worry about it. It’s… complicated.”

Complicated meaning it was still a sore subject. Complicated meaning Maggie didn’t have the energy to explain everything to two complete strangers. For as long as she could remember, the whole “mom” thing had always been _complicated_ , and it pained her to admit that, at this point, it felt like Pepper was no more her mom than her biological mother.

Peter seemed to sense her discomfort and changed the subject. “Do you know any other languages?”

“French, Italian, Russian, a fair amount of German, and a little bit of Japanese and Sokovian,” she answered. “My granddad always stressed the importance of knowing more than one language, and it kinda rubbed off on my dad.”

“That’s so cool!” Peter said. “I wish I could speak a bunch of foreign languages, but I only know Spanish, and not even all that much. I mean, I can hold a decent conversation, but I’m nowhere close to fluent or anything, not like you or Daisy.”

Maggie leaned past him to look at Daisy, surprise coloring her voice. “You’re fluent in Spanish?”

“French, actually,” she replied, her words clipped. She ripped off a piece of her sandwich and studied it before popping it in her mouth. “Not fluent, but I’m taking my last French class this year, thank god. French is so boring.”

“I don’t know about _that_ ,” Maggie said, making a face. “French is a really pretty language. It’s one of my favorites.” An idea came to her suddenly—the olive branch that she could extend to Daisy. She smiled. “I can help you practice if you want. Maybe if you have someone to talk with, it won’t be so boring!”

That was half the fun of learning new languages, being able to practice with other people, and in their family, there was always someone to talk with. She and Natasha used to make fun of everyone in Russian; Steve had picked up French, German, and Italian during the war; Wanda taught her swear words in Sokovian; she and her father usually spoke in English, but sometimes they would switch to Spanish if it was just the two of them, or if they didn’t want anyone else to hear.

Daisy gave her a side glance, then rolled her eyes and settled back against the bench. “I’d rather be bored.”

Maggie’s expression fell. Shoulders slumping, she faced forward on the bench and looked down at her sandwich, but her appetite had vanished. She could hear Peter and Daisy talking next to her, speaking in hushed voices. 

“She was just trying to help, Daisy,” he whispered.

“She was trying to show off,” she fired back.

Maggie stood abruptly, letting the napkin in her lap flutter to the ground, refusing to look at either of them. She took off down the path, weaving between joggers with strollers and bikers. Running always helped her think when there was no piano around for her to play. It took her mind off of whatever was bugging her. And right now, it was Daisy.

She came to a stop and leaned against a large oak tree further along the trail to catch her breath. Maggie was so sure that her olive branch would work, that Daisy would see she wasn’t trying to ruin her life or anything.

As her lungs opened up and her heart finally slowed, Maggie sat down at the base of the tree, pulling her knees to her chest. She tilted her head back and watched the sunlight drifting through the leaves above her. Maggie was so sick of second-guessing everything. She just wanted things in her life to make sense again.

“Maggie?”

Raising her head, she saw Peter jogging down the path. She let out a long sigh as she pushed herself to her feet. She was brushing the dirt off the bottom of her shorts when he came over.

“Knew I’d find you eventually,” he said, though his features were still pinched with worry. He fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, hesitating. “I’m sorry about Daisy. I swear she’s not usually like this, she just… I don’t know.”

“It’s fine, Peter, really,” Maggie said.

“No, it’s not,” he said, shaking his head. “Just because she’s upset doesn’t mean she should take it out on you. You don’t deserve that.” Peter let his hands drop and looked out over the water, sucking in a breath and letting it out sharply. “I just wish I knew how to help her.”

Maggie had a feeling he wasn’t just talking about her taking the guest bedroom, but she didn’t want to pry. Still, she assured him, “You’ll figure it out.”

They were quiet for a moment, listening as squirrels chased each other through the brush and birds chirped happily in the branches overhead and children screamed in delight across the lake, the tiny waves in the water from the paddle boats glistening in the brilliant sunlight.

“Are you okay?” Peter asked finally, turning back to her. “I never even checked.”

Doubt flowered in the pit of her stomach, but Maggie put on a winning smile worthy of the family name. “I’m always okay. That’s my superpower.”


	4. Standing on the Edge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait with this one. Trying to do university work during a global pandemic and quarantine will definitely steal your attention. I'm hoping to work on this more frequently from here on out, but my grandmother's health is declining, so I ask for patience please. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this next chapter!

Peter led the way back to the bench. Arms crossed over her chest, Maggie kept her eyes trained on the ground in front of her, watching the laces of Peter’s sneakers flop all over and gather up dirt and dust. All around them, people were talking and laughing, birds singing their melodies, the water pushing and pulling against the sand at the edge of the lake; bells trilled as bike riders warned pedestrians they were passing by.

And Maggie Stark had never felt so out of place.

She’d spent most of her life cooped up inside, shuffled from one house to the next. If she wasn’t at the old Malibu mansion—secluded from the world until the Mandarin had come knocking—she was at the penthouse, hundreds of feet in the air, or at the compound in the middle of the woods.

Being outside with the rest of the world felt almost wrong. She felt like she was breaking some unwritten rule, like any moment, the rug would be pulled out from under her and she’d be carted back to the compound and locked up again.

She didn’t resent her father for this, though. Maggie understood, as she got older, that he was just trying to keep her safe, to protect her from the prying eyes of the paparazzi and the public. He probably just wanted to give her a normal childhood—or at least as normal as it could be as Tony Stark’s kid. But that didn’t mean it was any less lonely.

Maybe that was why Daisy’s rejection hurt so much. Maggie had never been able to run down the street and play with her friends from school because she didn’t _have_ any. Private tutors weren’t exactly the best opportunities to meet new kids her age. And now here she was, living with not one but two kids her age, and she’d already screwed things up. Typical.

Maggie was so caught up in her own head, she almost didn’t notice that Peter had stopped walking. She stumbled behind him, narrowly avoiding running into him. He’d turned his head to the side, eyes scanning the trail the way they’d just come, mouth pressed in a thin line. There was a seriousness to his features that hadn’t been there a moment before.

“What’s wrong?” Maggie asked, following his gaze.

Peter didn’t say anything. Bikes and runners swerved around them. A walker in a dark hoodie, who had to be baking in the heat, passed by.

He shook his head. “Nothing. Come on.”

At the park bench, Daisy was waiting for them. She stood up as they came closer, grabbed the sandwich bag, and fell into step with them, making sure to stay on Peter’s other side, away from Maggie. Maggie tried to ignore how much it hurt.

Peter showed her a few more must-see spots in Flushing Meadows, but she could tell his heart wasn’t in it anymore, and she didn’t blame him. She could feel it too, that tiny little rain cloud hanging over their heads on that beautiful sunny Friday. She didn’t want to say the rain cloud’s name was Daisy, but they were both definitely thinking it.

No one said much as they left the park and walked back to the subway station. It was too loud to talk on the train, anyway. There were only a few people on, so Daisy grabbed a seat as far away from Maggie as possible. Maggie tried to ignore how much that hurt, too.

They’d hardly walked into the apartment before Peter was ready to walk back out.

“I swear I wouldn’t leave if it wasn’t important,” he told Maggie, “but I have to go.”

“Why?” she asked.

He ducked his head and stared down at the floor. “I, uh, have an internship with Stark Industries.”

His eyes darted up like he was trying to gauge her reaction.

“Stark Industries?” she repeated, her brows knitting in confusion.

Peter nodded, smiling through tight lips.

Maggie’s eyes narrowed at him. In its seventy-six year history, Stark Industries had never hired a high schooler for any of their internship positions; they didn’t even consider the rare high school applicant. So how in the _hell_ had Peter, who was very obviously still in high school, gotten an internship with the company?

“If you’re gonna go, just go,” Daisy said, breaking Maggie out of her thoughts. She shoved her leftovers from lunch in the fridge.

Peter stuck his tongue out at his sister and Daisy returned the gesture. He looked back at Maggie, concern lingering on the edges of his features. “I won’t be too long.”

_You won’t have to deal with Daisy on your own for that long._

She nodded and gave him a grateful smile.

Grabbing his backpack from his bedroom, Peter waved goodbye before practically running out of the apartment.

And then there were two.

Neither girl spoke for a long time. Maggie got the feeling Daisy was sizing her up, which wouldn’t have bothered Maggie if not for the fact that Daisy had a good six inches on her. It looked like she was going to say something, maybe try to pressure Maggie into leaving now while Peter and May were out of the apartment, but she only scowled and stalked off into her shared bedroom, slamming the door shut.

Maggie let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She looked around the apartment, empty but for the towers of boxes stacked in the den.

Off to a great start, it seemed.

❀⎊❀

Daisy ignored Maggie for the rest of the afternoon. She didn’t know whether to be upset or relieved, so she settled for indifference. It was better than the disappointment waiting to rear its ugly head.

Maggie took the opportunity to finish unpacking her suitcase and setting up the guest room. She didn’t really have anything that could add a bit of personal touch to the room other than a framed picture of her, Tony, Pepper, Happy, and Uncle Rhodey, but she hesitated to put it on display. One look and the Parkers would realize who she was immediately, and then she’d be well and truly screwed. So she kept it tucked away in one of the drawers of the nightstand next to the bed for safekeeping.

After she finished in her new bedroom, Maggie decided to explore more of the apartment, though there wasn’t much to explore. She looked through each cabinet in the kitchen, trying to memorize where everything was. The den was overrun with boxes that had yet to be unpacked. She was sure it would look much different when it was box-free, but that wouldn’t be happening for a while.

With nothing else better to do, Maggie brought her violin into the den and ran through a few scales and drills. If she had free time, she might as well practice, she reasoned, especially since she hadn’t touched her violin since before the Accords. When she felt reasonably warmed up and ready, she launched into one of her previous recital pieces, letting her fingers fly across the strings, relying on muscle memory. It felt good to play again, totally and completely uninterrupted.

The piece finished with a flourish. Maggie lowered the violin and bow and let herself relax, coming down from the adrenaline high she got from playing such a fast-paced piece.

“That was amazing!”

She spun on her heel to see Peter standing just inside the door, staring at her with his mouth hanging open. He came into the den and sat with her as she started cleaning her violin to put it away.

“How’d you learn to play like that?” he asked almost reverently. “I mean, you’ve gotta be like a prodigy or something, right?”

Maggie resolutely ignored the heat creeping up her neck. “I don’t know about prodigy, but playing that piece comes with practice. Lots and lots of practice.”

“Like days or weeks?”

“Try years,” she said. Peter’s mouth dropped even lower. “Yeah. My instructor gave me that piece when I was eleven, and I only just got to perform it in last year’s recital.”

“Eleven?” he repeated, incredulous. “That’s insane.”

“That’s what you get when you stick an only child in an empty house with a dad who wasn’t always around,” she said. “You learn to find things that’ll help pass the time.”

She placed her violin back in its case and set it aside.

“Can you play anything else? Other than violin.”

Maggie gave him a small smile. “You know, I’ve never tried the kazoo.”

Peter laughed, a breathy thing that made Maggie smile even wider.

“Seriously though,” he said.

“Uh, pretty much everything,” Maggie said. Peter’s eyebrows nearly met his hairline, his eyes wide as saucers. “Like I said, you find things to pass the time.” Her fingers drummed against her thigh in an arbitrary beat. “I just like playing music. Whether it’s with the violin or piano or xylophone doesn’t really matter.”

“That’s so cool,” said Peter.

“What about you?” Maggie asked, trying to steer the conversation away from herself. “Do you play any instruments?”

“I mean, I’m not a _prodigy_ like you,” he said, exaggerating the word in a way that made Maggie laugh, “but I’m in the marching band at Midtown. I’m not really good, but it’s fun to hang out with Ned at the football games.”

Maggie’s brows furrowed. “Who’s Ned?”

“Oh, that’s my best friend,” Peter explained. “I’m sure you’ll meet him soon, he’s always coming over here—or I’ll go to his house, it depends. Ned’s great. Super funny. Plus he’s always got my back.”

“Must be nice,” said Maggie. She hoped her voice didn’t come across as wistful as it sounded to her own ears. Peter’s brows drew up in the middle, his bottom lip sticking out in something that wasn’t quite a pout. “Having a best friend like that,” she added. “He sounds really cool.”

“Yeah, he totally is,” said Peter. “What about your best friend?”

Maggie considered the question for a moment. She drew in a long breath through her nose and let it out in a sigh, her eyes unfocused as she stared at one of the boxes next to them.

“I don’t have a best friend,” she said. She wouldn’t meet Peter’s eyes. “Not anymore, at least.”

Peter was quiet, like he didn’t know how to respond to that. She could feel him watching her. “I’m sorry,” he said finally. “That must have been hard. What happened?”

The ache in her chest from that morning had returned, sinking its clawed fingers into her heart. She looked at Peter, his features shining with a kind of innocence she envied. His life was simple. _Normal_. So far removed from the superheroes Maggie had known for so long. She couldn’t tell him. About Siberia, about the video, about the secret Steve had kept from her. How he’d left her and her father for dead in that bunker.

She let the corner of her mouth quirk up in a sad half-smile. “It’s a long story.”

She thought he might press her for more, but Peter let the subject drop. Instead, they talked about frivolous things like the weather and _Star Wars_. Peter nearly had a heart attack when he found out Maggie had never seen the original trilogy and vowed they would have a marathon one day over the summer to rectify this. And again Maggie was struck by how easy it was to talk with him. He would have acted differently, she was sure, if he’d known who she was. Everyone did.

May came bursting through the door with groceries and takeout from a local Thai restaurant sometime later. Peter immediately jumped up to help ease her load. Maggie didn’t have anything else to do, so she followed him into the kitchen.

“Hey, honey, how was your first day?” May asked, smiling warmly as she set down a gallon of milk.

Maggie gave her a small shrug. “It was fine.”

“Where’d you guys go?”

“Flushing Meadows,” Peter answered. He was balancing a gallon of chocolate milk, a box of cereal, a carton of eggs, and a box of frozen waffles in his hands with incredible grace. “And we got lunch at Delmar’s.”

May whipped around to look at Maggie. “Did you try a sandwich?”

Laughing to herself, Maggie nodded; these people _really_ liked their sandwiches. “It was really good.”

“They’re better than ‘really good,’” Peter said, carefully putting things in the fridge and freezer. “They’re godly.”

He ducked away as May tried to playfully swat him with the dish towel, grinning mischievously.

“Do you like Thai, Maggie?” May asked.

“I love Thai!” Maggie replied.

“Good, because that’s dinner,” she said, and Peter laughed. “I’m not making anything tonight.”

“At least we know Thai’s a crowd pleaser,” Peter pointed out.

Maggie pulled out a bag of grapes from the groceries and passed them to Peter. “Oh, my gosh, you’ve never _lived_ unless you’ve had _dim sum_ from one of the street stalls in Bangkok’s Chinatown. Best smelling street you’ll ever walk on, I swear.”

“Oh, wow, do you travel a lot?” May asked.

“Kind of? My dad does for his job, I usually stay home, though,” she said. She didn’t mention that her father’s “job” was being a superhero and owning the controlling interest in the world’s largest tech conglomerate and one of the most successful Fortune 500 companies in the world. “But sometimes he lets me tag along!”

“That’s so cool!” Peter said. “I totally want to travel when I’m older. See the world, experience other cultures, all that great stuff.”

May grabbed a handful of napkins from the counter and placed them in the middle of the tiny kitchen table; Maggie didn’t know if they would all fit. “Ben and I talked about it when we were younger, but we never got around to it. By the time we were able to start saving, we had you and Daisy in our lives, and traveling with little kids would have been too difficult.”

There was that name. _Ben_. Maggie wondered, again, who he was. She didn’t want to just come right out and ask. If the night before was anything to go by, it seemed like a sore subject for the Parkers.

May had Maggie divvy up the food while Peter finished setting the table. Daisy sulked out of the bedroom at May’s insistence. She sat across from Maggie, and her glare never wavered as she stabbed her fork into her food. It didn’t exactly make Maggie feel welcome. Or safe.

“So, Maggie, you’re from California, right?” May asked a few minutes after they’d started eating.

Nodding, Maggie kept her eyes on her bowl. Technically, yes, she was from California, but they didn’t need to know she hadn’t been there since the Mandarin attacked.

“What’s it like? Is it sunny and warm all the time like in the movies?” May leaned forward, curiosity filling her features.

Maggie paused for a moment and a wave of homesickness washed over her. She hadn’t thought about it in so long, but she missed the salty sea breeze that would waft through her window in the morning, watching the sunset on the horizon, how she’d fall asleep listening to the ocean lapping at the cliff face. How much had her home state changed since the last time she’d been there?

“It’s… nice,” she said. A small smile played on her lips. “Hot, obviously, but not super humid. I read somewhere it never gets below forty degrees in the winter.”

Daisy let out a derisive scoff. “Looks like someone’s in for a rude awakening, then. I hope you brought something heavier than that.” She nodded toward Maggie’s U.S. Air Force shirt, which hung loosely off her frame. “You’ll never survive a New York winter.”

_I’ve survived worse,_ she wanted to say, but she stopped herself. Maggie chewed her salad, choosing her words carefully. “I’ve actually been to New York during the winter before, so I think I’ll be okay. But I appreciate your concern.”

Daisy stared at her for a second before rolling her eyes and grumbling under her breath, “Whatever, Cali girl.”

As the conversation came to a lull, Maggie struggled to find a new topic. That had never been a problem for her before—there was almost never any silence during meals with the team. With so many loud personalities sitting around the table, she had a harder time getting them to shut up than she did trying to find something to talk about.

Just when the uncomfortable silence was getting to be too much, May looked at Peter with a grin and said, “Highs and Lows, go.”

Peter was quiet as he swallowed his food, pondering his answer. “For my high I’d say… probably just hanging out with Maggie.” The tips of his ears turned pink as he ducked his head, eyes darting in her direction. “It was really great getting to know you today.”

“I had fun, too,” Maggie said, trying to ignore the heat rising to her cheeks.

Across the table, Daisy rolled her eyes again.

“For my low, maybe just not getting to spend a ton of time at Flushing Meadows,” Peter finished. “I mean it was still super awesome, I just wish we could have gone out on the lake or, like, visited the Hall of Science or something, you know?”

“Well, now you know what to do for next time!” said May, smiling brightly. She pointed at Maggie with her fork and the noodles hanging off the end jumped a little. “Your turn, Maggie.”

Her brows furrowed. “My turn for what?”

“Highs and Lows,” she explained. “It’s Parker family tradition. Every night at dinner we go around the table and everyone says one high point of their day and one low point. It’s just a fun little game we play so we’re not eating in total silence.”

Maggie nodded slowly and let her mind wander to the events of the day. A lot had happened in twenty-four hours, and trying to find one high point and one low point proved to be a difficult task.

“I guess… for my high, I’ll say visiting Flushing Meadows,” she said after a moment. “And also walking through the city, that was fun. But not the subway.” She wrinkled her nose for good measure. “That’s probably my low.”

She wasn’t going to say her _real_ low, but a silent understanding seemed to pass between her, Peter, and Daisy, and she thought she saw the corner of Daisy’s mouth twitching up in a half-smirk.

If May noticed, she didn’t say anything. She launched into her own Highs and Lows, telling them all about how one of her coworkers has been stealing part of her lunch and she had a feeling she knew who it was, but then on her way home she saw a young man propose to his girlfriend in the nearby park and isn’t that so _sweet_ , those lucky lovebirds.

“What about you, Daisy, hmm?” May asked. The casual tone in her voice sounded forced. “What were your Highs and Lows?”

Daisy crossed her arms over her chest and said nothing, glaring at Maggie.

Giving his sister a little nudge, Peter urged her, “Come on, Dais, it’s your turn.”

“I’m not playing if _she’s_ playing,” she snapped, spitting out the word like it was poison in her mouth.

It didn’t take a genius to know who _she_ was, and _she_ tried to keep her expression neutral as she stared down at her food, which was suddenly much more interesting than it had been a moment before.

May laid her fork down on the table with a _clang_ and turned to her niece, exasperated. “Juliette Parker, I don’t know what has gotten into you but it ends tonight. Apologize to Maggie. Now.”

“It’s fine, May,” Maggie said out of the corner of her mouth, her eyes fixed on the table. She really didn’t want to be the cause of an argument between the two of them.

“No, it’s not,” May said pointedly. “Ben and I did not raise you to be so rude to a guest, Daisy.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint,” Daisy shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Guess that’s all I do these days, huh, May?”

“I did not say that!”

“You didn’t have to!”

A tense silence followed, and Maggie finally looked up as Daisy settled back in her chair with an unpleasant scowl. Peter just shook his head. Elbows resting on the table, May laid her head in her hands and blew out a breath. Maggie could tell she was exhausted and trying not to show it; Dad did the same thing when he didn’t want her to worry.

Maggie pushed her green papaya salad around the bowl, her stomach turning at the thought of eating another bite.

“Well, I think that’s enough for me,” May said. She almost sounded normal, but the faint edge in her voice, the way it wavered just slightly, betrayed her. She pushed her chair back and stood from the table. Taking her bowl and silverware in her hands, she leveled Daisy with a hard look. “You’ve just earned yourself two weeks of dish duty with your attitude, young lady. I expect more civilized behavior from you tomorrow or you can kiss that phone goodbye for the rest of the weekend.”

May put her dishes in the sink and left the kitchen without another word.

No one spoke. Peter looked from Maggie to Daisy, then down at his food, frowning like his soup had done something wrong. Maggie played with the charm on her necklace, the weight of Daisy’s glare making her squirm in her seat.

_Starks don’t fidget, Maggie._

She stopped moving.

Daisy stood up and grabbed her plate. She wouldn’t look at Peter or Maggie as she said, “Dump your crap in the sink,” and stalked into the kitchen, her ponytail swinging from side to side like the pendulum of a clock. Peter pushed away from the table and rose to his feet, too. Shooting Maggie a tight-lipped smile, he grabbed both his dishes and hers and walked over to his sister, pulling a dish towel from the cabinet above her head.

Maggie watched them for a second before scooting out from the bench and heading down the hall to the guest room, ready to fall onto the mattress and be done with the day.

❀⎊❀

Maggie dreamt she was on a road. Gravel dug into the soles of her bare, dirt-caked feet. Trees taller than she’d ever seen lined the road on either side, casting shadows so long they blocked any of the light let through from the canopy of leaves high above her head.

Brows furrowed, Maggie turned to her right, then her left. If there was anything further down in either direction, the thick darkness was hiding it from her, obscuring her view and forcing her to choose a path without knowing what lay at the end. _Rude_.

With nothing to lose either way, she chose to go right. She stuck to the middle of the road, hands swinging by her sides. As she walked, a breeze blowing in the opposite direction picked up, gentle at first, then stronger and stronger until she was struggling to move even a step further, like she was trying to walk through a brick wall.

The wind disappeared and Maggie nearly stumbled over herself. A strange feeling washed over her. She cast a glance over her shoulder, but the road behind looked the same as it did in front.

An ear-splitting _CRACK_ shattered the suffocating silence. Jumping, Maggie turned forward just as one of the trees on the side of the road crashed to the ground not two feet away. Maggie covered her face with her arm as a wall of dirt and gravel kicked up into the air. But when the dust settled and she lowered her arm, it wasn’t a tree in front of her, but a statue—a stone pillar carved in the proud image of Captain America, of Steve Rogers, the traitor.

Another _CRACK_ echoed from the dense growth. Maggie scrambled back as a second tree slammed onto the road right where she’d been standing, and the watchful eyes of the Black Widow—Natasha—stared back at her, magnified a hundred-fold.

A third almighty _CRACK!_ Louder than the others. Closer. Maggie looked up, squinting in the darkness until she could just make out a silhouette growing bigger and longer and faster with each second as her father’s stern face raced toward her with all the fury she’d been expecting from him since Germany.

Her eyes went wide, and she took off in a sprint back the way she’d come. The air filled with a crescendoing chorus of _CRACKS_ as trees on both sides fell victim to gravity and met the road below, and the wind roared back to life against her back, propelling her forward faster than her legs could move. She wanted to shout for help, scream at the trees and the wind and her legs to _slow down_ , but her tongue wouldn’t move the way it was supposed to.

Maggie was so focused on what was behind her—and on not being crushed to death—she didn’t notice that her path was coming to a very quick end. The road dropped off into a giant chasm of black nothingness. She tried to stop herself before she got too close to the edge, but she was carrying too much speed. The gravel gave way under her feet, and Maggie pitched over the side of the ledge, streaking through the air like a bullet into the nothingness as her father’s voice echoed around her, calling her name.

❀⎊❀

Maggie shot up in bed, chest heaving, straining against the weight of her dream. She kicked at the blankets tangled around her legs and scrambled off the bed. Sticky with sweat, she pushed her hair out of her face, taking a few deep breaths as a hand searched the nightstand blindly. Her fingers closed around her glasses and she shoved them onto the bridge of her nose.

As carefully as she could, she pushed open the door to the guest room and crept into the dark hallway. The apartment was quiet this time of night. May’s door had been left slightly ajar; the door to the twins’ bedroom was closed. The only light came from a small night light plugged into the wall in the kitchen. The shadows from the furniture and boxes in the den crawled toward her across the walls—gnarled claws from the coat rack, the curve of the bottom of the lampshade taking the shape of the grim reaper’s scythe.

Maggie made sure to leave the front door propped open before setting off down the corridor. Part of her felt rather silly walking around in her super short pajama bottoms, tank top, and flannel shirt, but no one would be up at this hour, she reminded herself, and if they were, they would probably be dressed just like her. Maybe they would have been a bit smarter and remembered to put on shoes. A sharp right turn and thirty feet later, she tiptoed into the stairwell and took the steps two at a time until she came to a heavy metal door. She pushed on the handle, letting her weight open the door, and stepped out onto the roof of the building.

The concrete stung against her bare feet as she wandered further onto the roof. A distant train whistle, engines revving and roaring, and the odd voice from another insomniac all blended together into a dissonant symphony that Maggie had never been able to hear before at the penthouse. She sucked in a long, slow breath; New York City air had never tasted so sweet.

A warm breeze snatched at her hair and her clothes, and she crossed her arms over her chest. Leaning her head back, she was disappointed to find only a handful of stars set against the inky black sky. Back at the compound, she would have been able to see hundreds.

Maggie tried to ignore the chill that ran down her spine as she watched one of the stars flicker softly. Therapy had helped, but she didn’t think she would ever be able to escape the feeling of dread that settled in her bones when she looked at the night sky.

Behind her, concrete crunched under the weight of another body. Maggie spun to face them, legs spreading into a fighting stance as her arms tensed at her sides. A lone figure, tall and slim, stood across the roof, dressed in a ridiculous spandex suit that clung to their skin like glue. In the middle of the suit was a tiny emblem in the shape of a black spider.

“Woah, hey, sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” they said hastily. A high voice, muffled by the mask covering his face, but distinctly male, and… strangely familiar. The white, tear-shaped eyes of the mask went wide.

“Who are you?” Maggie demanded.

The eyes shrunk back to the size they were before. He put his hands up in surrender. “It’s alright, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“What, circus turned you down?” she said, nodding to the red and blue fashion monstrosity he was wearing.

“No,” he replied, and she swore it sounded like he was pouting. He puffed his chest out, as if that made him seem bigger or something, and confidently told her, “I’m your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.”

Ah, so he was one of _those_. A civilian running around in a Halloween costume trying to play superhero.

Maggie raised an eyebrow, looking him up and down. “Am I supposed to be impressed by that?”

He faltered, then shook his head and gathered himself again. “I guess it doesn’t really matter. I was just swinging by and saw you here and I-I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Uh, y-yeah, I’m fine,” Maggie said. “Just a nightmare. Thanks for… checking, I guess.”

“Right, good, that’s… good.”

An awkward silence fell between them. Spider-Man bounced on the balls of his feet, glancing around the roof and over his shoulder. He was an energetic one, that was for sure. He also seemed awfully young to be out by himself so late at night. Maggie had spent a lot of time around costumed crusaders and heroes in her life, she’d never seen anything quite like him before.

“Well, if you’re all good, then I guess I’ll be going,” he said finally, clearing his throat. Was he trying to make his voice sound deeper? Oh, god, he was. Like that would fool anyone with half a brain. He gave her a small salute. “It was nice to meet you, Maggie. Hope I’ll see you around the neighborhood again.”

Then, with practiced ease, he turned, ran toward the edge of the roof, and leaped over just before the ledge ended, plummeting out of sight. Alarmed, Maggie rushed over to where he’d been standing not a moment earlier. Color her surprised when she found that he had not splattered all over the sidewalk like a red and blue pancake—he was swinging through the air, jumping from one white string to another as they materialized out of nothing. No, not nothing. They came from his wrists. He snapped one of his wrists at a building, grabbed onto the string with both hands, and pulled himself forward with the momentum before letting go to free fall for a second and start the process again.

As she watched him swing off into the night, Maggie was left with one burning question: how had Spider-Man known her name?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think and be sure to follow my Tumblr iron-parkr for all things Maggie, Daisy, and my other OCs!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you liked it make sure to comment and let me know! I can't wait to share more of this story with y'all! And follow me on tumblr @ iron-parkr for even more Maggie and other OC content!


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